The Ballad of TIffany Valentine
by smngry
Summary: Taking place between 1988 and 1998, this story covers various periods of Tiffany's ten year separation from Chucky. Old characters return as our murderous maiden finds out the astonishing truth about the man she loves. What follows is a decade long, blood soaked tale of love, murder revenge and discovery
1. Prologue

Prologue

November 7th 1988

Stalking the cold, dirty alley outside the rundown apartment block, the cat chased the shadows as the mice scattered in various directions, dinner once again evading the scruffy stray. Pausing and taking a second to lick its paws, the cat leapt up, the heaving dumpster below refusing to offer much in the way of food as the cat skipped on past, bouncing in one fluid leap and landing on the windowsill of the filthy first floor apartment. As the moonlight filtered through the open window of the apartment, the torn curtains flapped gently, the cool November breeze causing the fabric to ripple periodically as the shadow of the half dead feline flickered across the far wall of the bedroom. The clock on the wall ticked merrily, the hands moving with each second that passed, the incessant 'tick-tock' going completely unnoticed by the couple as they entered the bedroom at an alarming pace, the door swinging open and clattering into the wall with a ferocious noise. Walking backwards, the young blonde threw up her arms, cupping her lover's face in her hands as she kissed him, eyes closed, mind racing, the moment taking her completely as she felt his hands moving over her body. Pulling his hands away, he kissed her back, harder, more intense as he pushed her gently backwards into the bedroom, his arms working overtime as he ripped off his overcoat and let it slide to the ground, coming to a rest in the doorway of the bedroom. She lowered her soft delicate hands and proceeded to undo the belt buckle, secured tightly around his waist, before pulling down the zip and working her hand inside the soft material of his trousers, the hard muscle instantly recognisable, throbbing as she placed her hand around it and started stroking. The moans emanating from deep within his heart were made all the more vocal as she stopped kissing, biting his lip and drawing blood as she pulled her face away from his, looking deep into the eyes of the man she loved, his long dark hair partially obscuring his face. Almost immediately he began to undo the buttons of his shirt, peeling it from his chest and throwing it to the ground as his arms came back together and wrapped around her slender figure, the dusky, peach skin, recently hidden ever so slightly under the short dress before he managed to unhook the clasp and let it fall to the bedroom floor, finally revealing the heaving breasts, the amazing figure, the legs looking sublime as the lace top stockings now became fully visible, her outrageously high heels lending her an extra inch or four in height as she once more pulled him near, her lips parting seductively as her tongue erotically entered his mouth. Without saying another word, he backed her up against the wall, her head gently thudding as she realised where she was, lifting a stocking clad leg and wrapping it around him as her hand once more began to stroke him down below. She could feel something happening as he reached down and pushed her hand away, the flesh protruding as she wrapped her hands around his neck and hopped up, quickly throwing her standing leg around her man's waist, the warm, fulfilling sensation as he ever so softly brought her down, entering her passionately. Looking into each others eyes, her mouth fell open as the moment once more took her, the air crackling with sexual energy as she begged him to take her, her mind pulsing with thoughts of just what she'd like him to do next. Taking another step forward, he pressed her back against the wall, lifting his hands and grabbing her wrists as he held them out either side of her body, slowly but surely beginning to work his way in and out, the rhythm growing stronger with every thrust as he quietly kissed her, his groans of ecstasy making every hair on her body stand and quiver. Suddenly, without warning, he spun her from the wall, turning and falling on top her as they both hit the bed. She had to giggle, the moment almost ruined as he tripped over the pants resting around his ankles, now frantically kicking them off before turning his attention to her once more, climbing on top of her as he leaned in and kissed her tenderly on the neck. Sparks rippled through her body as she arced her neck, her spine stiffening, her body tensing as she opened her thighs and felt him start to slide in for the second time, his manhood causing a surge of endorphins as she groaned in delight, her fists gripping the crisp, white bed linen in agonising desire. Once more, she wrapped her legs around his waist and felt him tense up, the feeling of her stockings on his back driving him crazy as he grabbed her wrists, holding them down, pressing them into the mattress above her head with one hand, such was his strength. His free hand moved south, as she felt it moving slowly and gingerly between her breasts, across her stomach and towards her clitoral area, the fingers starting to massage the area as he slowly thrust forward, deeper, before pulling back and repeating the manoeuvre, deeper, harder, faster, every time growing in intensity. She could feel nerve endings going crazy, the pleasure, the feeling of submission as he held her down, knowing full well she was loving every minute as she felt him moving inside her, the constant throbbing as he picked up the pace and found his rhythm again, every thrust growing in intensity as she closed her eyes and sank back into the soft bedding, screaming louder as he grunted with each thrust. This wasn't love any more, this was lust, pure animal lust, he knew how to fuck her, he was the only one that ever did, and she couldn't be any happier than she was right now as she felt her body beginning to tremble, her limbs beginning to shake as she reached the peak of excitement. He wasn't holding back as he removed his hand from down below and instead brought her wrists down by the side of her head, once again leaning in and running his tongue up between her firm, generous breasts, watching them jiggle slightly every time he thrust forward, grinding into her, the bed sheets moving in tandem with their entwined bodies as she started to get even louder, the screams of passion coming faster, louder, her eyes clamped tightly shut as she finally felt the explosion of euphoria sweeping throughout her body. A firework not sparking, but full on igniting and fizzing through her veins as she temporarily blacked out, brought back from the brink of unconsciousness by the voice in her ear as he finished pleasuring her and softly spoke, commanded almost.

"We're not done yet!" He hissed as he relinquished the grip on her wrists.

Opening her eyes slightly she smiled, he wasn't done, not yet, and she loved when it was like this. She felt him sink back onto his knees, his naked physique now resting in front of her, well toned. Older than her, which had never gone down well with her mother, but nevertheless, immaculate condition as he gently lay beside her. Without saying a word, she sat up, her head still dizzy from the intense orgasm that had just rippled through her body. Swinging her leg over his waist she leaned forward and placed her hands on his face, her tongue plunging into his mouth as she kissed him deeply. She was pleasantly surprised to find his hands wandering up her body, cupping her full, ample breasts in his hands as he rolled them around, his thumbs gently moving over her nipples, now stood firm, to attention. Moving a solitary hand away from his face, she rummaged in the gap between their naked, panting bodies, wrapping her fist around his throbbing member and slowly guiding it inside as she lowered herself onto him for the second time that night. As she sat upright, now straddling her lover, she felt herself expand inside and groaned, as did he, the moment taking them as they looked into each other's eyes. She ran her hands across his chest as she moved, her hips rolling, a sea of tranquillity as she felt him tensing. His hands once more reached up, playing with her chest, rolling her breasts around in his hands again, her body feeling the incendiary flare of pleasure. Slowly she gyrated, thrusting her hips into him as he closed his eyes, mumbling to himself under his breath in an effort to ward off the oncoming feeling of satisfaction. She leaned back as she felt it again, way quicker than anticipated. Faster she rode him, harder, the air escaping his lungs in short grunts of feverish passion as she tightened up, gripping him from within, the elation enveloping her as she felt every nerve frantically crying out in a fervent frenzy. Flicking her head left then right, screaming with delight, her body once more beginning to convulse as the pleasure and excitement burst forth and washed over her, trembling as the numbness set in she exhaled, her eyes growing wider as the hairs up and down her body stood on end and the coldness began to spread from her head to her toes. He lifted his hands, smiling as their fingers entwined. Sitting forward, levering herself from his erect manhood, she gave a grin and spun onto all fours, her arms now laid out across the ruffled bed sheets in front of her, one hand gripped tightly in the other as she braced herself for what was sure to follow. In no time at all she felt it, the movement behind her as he lay his rough, working class hands across either of her cheeks and leaned forward, softly kissing her back, moving up to her neck and whispering in her ear.

"I want you..." He softly uttered.

She smiled her million dollar smile and flicked her shoulder length hair away from her eyes as she sunk her head even lower, her ass now sticking even more proudly in the air. She could feel one of his hands move from her cheeks and under her, moving forward and finding her G-spot, pleasuring her as she closed her eyes again, relaxing her entire body as he went to work, in no time at all the feeling rushing to the surface once more as she struggled to keep herself from screaming, her lip beginning to drip with blood as she bit so hard. It was no use, her high pitched cry of orgasmic joy would have been heard next door, if there was anybody living there that was. She felt the warm feeling flow through her legs and her waist like never before as, suddenly, she felt both his hands back on her cheeks, his firm, erect manhood now looking for a way inside her, experiencing success as he slid in and grunted a more vocal expression of joy. He started slowly at first, which she found calming, as she allowed a hand to make its way towards the point of penetration, stroking, applying pressure as she very delicately played with herself. Over time he picked up speed, faster with every movement, the moment getting too much for him, his pelvis gyrating as he ground into her from behind, running his hands down the back of her seamed stockings and to the tip of her stiletto heels before quickly slapping her cheeks, making her yelp in surprise, pleasure and astonishment. He was going for it now, she could tell by the pace he had reached, the deep, fast, incredibly hard thrusts as she found herself almost hitting her head on the headboard of the bed, the legs scraping on the floor as the momentum from their sweating, sexually charged bodies made the bed move along the floor slightly. She tried to turn her head, wanting to offer him an alternative, but his mind was made up, no sooner had she started to turn, she looked into his eyes and saw how far gone he was, almost ready, his body leaning back, anticipation and elation both etched across his face as he clawed at her back, pushing faster, deeper, the two of them screaming as one before finally she felt the explosion, their mixed cries of pleasure sounding out across the apartment. Pulling back, he withdrew and flopped down on the bed beside her as she spun onto her back, her head definitely feeling the dizzying effects of the multiple orgasms he'd been able to serve up. As they both lay there, panting, their chests pounding, fighting for breath, she leaned her head across his chest and closed her eyes.

"I love you Chucky!" She spoke as she lay an arm across his bare, naked stomach.

"I know you do Tiff..." He replied as he pulled her close, his eyes moving uneasily around the room.

With that she fell asleep...

As Chucky quietly dressed and left...

Far more important matters to attend to...


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

November 8th 1988

She was used to this...

The cold, empty feeling she experienced as she woke, once again, to find her bed void of any life other than her own. The disturbed bed sheets the only evidence of her gentleman caller as she sat upright and pulled a pack of cigarettes from the bed side table. Swinging her feet over the edge of the bed she held the cigarette, taking it in her lips as her hand shot forward, grabbing the Zippo lighter, the naked flame sparking into a sudden existence as she struck the flint. Taking a deep breath she inhaled the acrid smoke through the filter and closed her eyes, removing her black nylons before standing carefully from the unmade bed and beginning to walk, grimacing as the events of the previous night took their toll, pain shooting throughout her midriff. Entering the living room of the tiny, one bed apartment she felt her heart drop as she found the room empty, the silence knocking the wind from her sails, any semblance of optimism shot down in flames. Chucky had played her for a fool once again, calling by at his own convenience, seducing her with romantic words, promises of a brighter future, his highly strung demeanour giving way briefly and allowing a playful, romantic side to shine through. Or so she thought...

She thought he'd changed... But then she realised...

He'd never change...

November 9th 1988

The drizzle hung in the air, cool on the face as Tiffany prowled the streets, the soft breeze whipping around her stockings and up the incredibly short, tight, black dress she had thrown on before leaving her apartment. Tonight had been pretty uneventful so far. The roads clear of traffic as she emerged from the filthy, piss stained alley and into the neon tinted light of the street, hanging right and heading towards the movie theatre. She figured she'd been out almost an hour as she passed the electrical goods store, the TVs in the window playing to the empty street from behind a wall of ventilated steel, the shutters rolled down fully, the filthy Chicago neighbourhood home to more than a handful of less trustful characters. As she walked on she picked up the pace, opening her tiny black handbag, fishing around before retrieving the small compact mirror, flipping it open to reveal a mirror and a small bag of cocaine lying atop the various shades of foundation and eye shadow. Stopping on the spot, she opened the small bag and emptied the contents across the mirror, leaning forward, a finger pressed against one of her nostrils, holding it shut as the other remained open, hovering up the line of sweet white powder, the rush hitting her almost instantly. Not too much, but enough to put an extra spring in her step as she started to slowly walk on, discarding the now empty bag and staring at herself in the mirror, carefully touching up her makeup as she walked on. She'd not made it to the movie theatre when she heard the distant humming of an engine, far behind her in the distance, slowing before turning down the street and following her. Before long, the car pulled up alongside her, Tiffany not giving it a second glance as she carried on walking, eyes dead ahead. Suddenly the window squeaked audibly as the driver leaned over and wound down the glass.

"Hey baby!" He yelled as he leaned across the passenger seat of the beat up old Sedan. "You wanna party with a real man?"

Looking back over her left shoulder and spying the decrepit automobile, Tiffany gave a cackle of laughter and waved her hand, dismissing the loudmouth.

"Sure I do..." His eyes lit up as she spoke. "Let me know if you find one." She gave a giggle again as she stopped walking, spinning to look the guy dead in the eye as she rested her back against one of the various storefront windows, lifting her leg and flashing the top of her stockings, the soles of her heels pressed against the bare brickwork of the store.

"You fucking whore!" The guy shouted as he gave the car some gas, accelerating away as a thick plume of smoke clouded behind, the engine burning oil heavily.

She laughed to herself once more, the drugs beginning to dance around her system as she again reached into her bag, pulling out a cigarette and sparking it into life, the rush of the nicotine hitting her lungs enough to make her head spin. It was as she stood, her head gently flitting from left to right, that she breathed in the smoke and took a look around, finally noticing how serene the evening had become. Standing with her back pressed against the brickwork of the rundown building she felt the wind pick up as she looked at the clouds gathering above, the fork of lightning ejected from the heavens with such ferocity, an explosion echoing across the city as the storm exploded through the heavens, seemingly out of nowhere. Suddenly she found herself startled, her head turning instinctively as two Chicago PD squad cars raced down Wabash Avenue, lights flashing, sirens blaring as the cars passed the end of the narrow street Tiffany found herself occupying. The rain started to hit the sidewalk, softly at first, but within a minute it was bouncing well over two feet from the ground as she held her hand bag over her head, a valiant effort, but not enough as the drops of water started to soak her to the bone. As she looked for shelter she spun her head, noticing the headlights hang a right at the end of the street, where the movie theatre sat, and approach her through the downpour. Her luck seemed to be in as the Ferrari slowed to a stop, the windscreen wipers working overtime as the engine roared underneath the hood of the immaculate vehicle. As she stood, increasingly drenched as the seconds ticked by, the driver's window slowly lowered itself as a face emerged. Late fifties, grey hair, suited and booted, the gentleman behind the wheel was obviously a successful man. Why he was crawling the kerbs in this particular neighbourhood was anybody's guess, but Tiffany had heard every excuse under the sun. The wife, no longer understanding and giving her husband a free pass to no strings sex. The business man with so much stress that he just needs to find an outlet, and if he can help a poor young girl in the meantime, all the better. She'd heard all the excuses, and although she was by no means high class, she did set out each night targeting the wealthier clientele, and it looked like she'd just struck the jackpot.

"You know you're gonna catch your death out there." The man smiled as he looked at her, turning the radio of the Ferrari down a touch.

Tiffany played dumb, choosing to simply smile as the rain lashed her body, soaking her to the bone and making her already tight dress cling to her body even more. She lifted her hand and swept her hair away from her face as the man spoke again.

"What's your name?" He asked, breaking the silence.

"Tiffany." She replied as the rain cascaded down her face.

"Well Tiffany it appears we have a problem." He stroked his chin, the stubble, built up over the course of the day, irritating him.

"Do we?" She asked, her eyes widening a touch as her sexy, voice floated through the air.

"We do indeed." He answered. "See... I'm not from around here, and I really need a friendly face to keep me company tonight."

"I see." Tiffany replied once more.

"Let's cut the bullshit." He spoke honestly. "How much for the night?"

Straight to the point, she liked that...

"$200." She answered immediately, examining his reaction. The man behind the wheel cast his eyes towards his lap, the money in his hand as he counted. Within a matter of seconds he turned back to her, holding aloft a wad of notes as he spoke.

"What say we call it $300... And you show me something none of the other girls ever could?" He smiled.

"I think that can be arranged." She smiled as she used her heel to push herself away from the wall, smoothing her dress out as she approached the passenger side of the car, her heels clicking on the tarmac as she allowed her ass to roll seductively. Opening the door and climbing inside, her new friend admired her curvy figure, her legs among the most beautiful he had ever laid eyes on.

"You're not a cop are you?" She asked as she grabbed the handle of the door, pausing as she was about to pull it shut.

"No baby, don't worry." He laughed.

"Because you have to tell me if you are." She slammed the door shut.

"Relax," He turned his attention back to the car. "You have somewhere we can go?"

"I have an apartment." She answered. "It's not much, but..."

"It'll do for what we need right?" He laughed.

Tiffany nodded as she felt for the seatbelt, pulling it across her chest and hearing the 'click' from the housing down by her left thigh. The client dipped the clutch and put the car in gear, the rain hammering against the windscreen as he revved the engine.

"Let's go have some fun." He grinned as he tossed the money in her lap, releasing the clutch as the car sped off down the street.

"You have no idea..." Tiffany whispered to herself as she allowed a smirk to cross her face.

No sooner had they fallen through the front door of Tiffany's damp riddled apartment when she felt his hands moving over her ass cheeks, the fingers sinking in as he felt the firm, tender flesh hiding beneath the short dress adorning her incredible figure. He leaned in and kissed her neck, Tiffany pulled away, a playful smile as she spun around and held him at arms length.

"That's extra..." She whispered seductively.

Digging into the inside pocket of his jacket, the man removed his wallet, a wedding ring falling from the silk lining and hitting the floor, rolling off towards the bedroom door as the man noticed and gave pursuit.

'Married...' She thought to herself, disgust spreading throughout her.

He finally dropped to his knees and grabbed the ring, picking it up, eyeing it with care and attention. As he knelt on the uncarpeted floor of the hall, Tiffany's legs suddenly appeared before him, her hands on her hips as she stood, a slight bend in her right leg, the sole of her heel playfully twisting into the bare wood. As his eyes made their way up her thighs, across her waist and heaving breasts, pushed up by the tight fitting chest of the dress, they eventually stopped at her face as she playfully bit her lip and swung the bedroom door fully open, the dimly lit ambience of the room spelling out all manner of sexual bliss. As she stared back, his eyes perfectly fixed on her, she nodded slightly towards the bedroom, her client's excitement getting the better of him as he fumbled the ring back into his jacket pocket and stood, a smile appearing as he made his way into the run down bedroom.

"I guess this'll do..." He sneered as he looked around, the intimate lighting going completely unappreciated as he took his jacket and tossed it over a chair sat in the corner of the stagnant bedroom. Without saying another word he began to undo his tie, the knot falling to pieces in his hands as he feverishly fiddled with it. Meanwhile, Tiffany made her way down the side of the bed and to her bedside table, opening the top drawer and removing a jar, the multiple colours within reminding her 'guest' of a jar of candy. Snapping the lid from the jar, Tiffany reached inside and removed a piece of foil, blue in colour and square, the man instantly recognising the contents. She threw the condom on the bed as the man spoke once more, undoing the buttons of his expensive looking white shirt.

"How much to go bareback?" He asked, zero emotion in either his tone or his expression.

Smiling, Tiffany leaned forward over the bed, her breasts almost cascading from the top of her dress as she calmly grabbed the unused condom and placed it back in the jar.

"Consider it 'on me'." She replied, her voice music to his ears.

As his shirt dropped to the floor, he kicked off his shoes and began to unbuckle his belt, Tiffany casually walking past and running her fingers across his bare chest as she spoke, her voice now a whisper, sensual.

"Everything off." She grinned, his pulse beginning to race as she felt his heart ever so slightly, banging beneath his ribs, the excitement of the moment having the desired effect.

Leaving the room, her heels clicking constantly as she made her way down the hall, the man tore off his pants and removed his underwear, quickly jumping onto the bed, his erection standing proud as he waited for her to return. Sure enough, within minutes she appeared in the door way, her hair hanging slightly over her face, her dress missing as she stood before him, her bra, thong and stockings leaving very little to the imagination as she leaned against the frame of the door and held her hand aloft, an assortment of handcuffs, chains and whips clenched in her palm.

"Jesus!" He gasped, excitement, exhilaration and anticipation all present in his beaming grin, his face wrinkling under the strain of the smile now aimed at her.

"You said you wanted something nobody else could give you." She smirked.

"Hell yeah!" He laughed. "Fuck, yeah!"

Walking slowly forward, her breasts wobbling with every step Tiffany reached the foot of the bed and grabbed one of his legs, looking into his eyes as she clamped one of the chains around his ankle and secured him to the bed post, moving onto the other without ever letting her eyes leave his. Within a matter of seconds she had finished, his lower body now completely shackled to the frame of the king sized bed. As she walked down the side of the bed she sat beside him, his hand instantly shooting out and running up and down her leg, gliding over her stockings and trembling as he reached the top, continuing on as he very gently touched the lace of her black thong. Suddenly Tiffany grabbed his hand and shook her head as she started securing his wrist, the handcuff crashing down and almost breaking his bone, such was the force she used.

"That's naughty." She carried on shaking her head as she stood and turned, leaning over him, one knee digging into the mattress beside his chest as she repeated the same procedure, both his arms now completely restrained.

"Oh Jesus..." He smiled, letting his head flop back as he closed his eyes, his voice breaking slightly as he waited for her to climb on top of him.

Only she didn't...

He opened his eyes just as Tiffany grabbed his chin, lifting his head and squeezing his cheeks together, his mouth opening in shock as she held her hand aloft, her thong now removed and dangling in her hands. Without saying another word he smiled as best he could as she forced her underwear into his mouth, this sadistic act of ridicule serving only to get him even more excited as, from nowhere, Tiffany produced a roll of tape and tore a strip off, placing it across his mouth and smoothing it down with her hand. Looking into his eyes, she smiled once more and spoke.

"Are you ready?" She asked.

As he lay there, his penis throbbing to the point of causing an amazing kind of pain, he could do no more than nod his head and breathe heavily through his nose as Tiffany stood and made her way to the foot of the bed, disappearing for a second, before suddenly reappearing. Leaning forward she began to crawl up the bed, making her way towards him, filling the gap between his restrained, parted thighs. He took in the vision of beauty crawling towards his quivering body as she stopped and knelt up, removing her bra and giving him a prime view of her magnificent breasts as she winked at him, her body naked, except for the stockings adorning her elegant legs.

"Close your eyes..." She whispered as she tilted her head slightly.

The 'client' threw his head back, sinking into the pillow as he clamped his eyes tightly shut, feeling Tiffany move near his waist as he finally felt it happening...

Only this wasn't right...

This didn't feel normal...

This felt terrible in fact, the man's face contorting into an uncomfortable look as the pain began to spread upwards, through his stomach and over his chest, suddenly reaching his mouth as he opened his eyes and tried his hardest to scream, the lace and cotton securely fastened between his lips preventing him from making anything other than a low, yet intense, murmur. As his eyes flew open he looked at her, still kneeling there, knife in hand as she bit her lip in that playful manner that had just moments ago turned him on so much, delicately twisting the point of the knife into the palm of her opposite hand as she looked on. Between blinks of his eyes, as sweat started to appear across his face, he noticed her free hand reach down to his genitals, flinching at the sudden jolt of agony, the pain once more shooting up, clearer this time, searing through every fibre of his being. He opened his eyes once more as he began to panic, shock washing over him at the sight that greeted his eyes. Tiffany held her hands aloft and gave a small cackle of laughter, rocking backwards slightly, a bloodstained knife in one hand, the man's scrotum in the other, sliced clean off as the testicles hung free from the skin of his sac, the two chunks of red and purple gristle dangling by a solitary blood vessel each as the blood began to drain from his former body part. He began to feel cold, like ice, as the colour left his face, Tiffany taking great pleasure in holding his hacked off scrotum above his chest and squeezing the blood from within, running free as she turned his testicles into a bloody pulp before releasing her grip and letting them fall, eventually coming to a rest on his chest, his eyes growing wide in horror. Suddenly he started struggling, his arms flailing as he tried with every bit of strength to get free, his legs kicking as the pain began to grow, stronger and stronger with every kick, the bed beginning to bang against the wooden floor of the bedroom, the chains making all manner of noise as the man struggled, desperately fighting to break free. As Tiffany knelt back, letting the cheeks of her peachy backside rest on the heels of her stocking clad feet, she leaned to the side and grabbed her bra, quickly fastening it around her back before slipping her arms through the straps and adjusting for comfort. Looking down, she could see the blood, pooling around where his genitals once sat, pride of place on his disgusting, dishonest body, the penis still very much attached as it lay dead, flopping this way, then that as the man continued to struggle, convulsing in both rage and shock as the noise from the bed and the chains cancelled out what little noise was allowed to escape his mouth. Before long Tiffany had to stand, the blood flowing over the foot of the bed as tiny bits also started seeping over each side, the man's legs acting as a fleshy dam as he struggled, the torrents of blood staining his legs a maroon shade as he started to tire. Spinning on the spot, the entertainment on offer beginning to bore her slightly, Tiffany skipped over to the chair in the corner of the room and reached into the jacket pocket, withdrawing the mystery man's wallet and wedding ring. Opening the wallet, Tiffany was amused to find pictures. A woman, children, obviously the family of the man dying before her right now, staring back at her with a childish happiness she was completely unfamiliar with. Flicking past the pictures, she soon discovered his driving license, the man's name apparently Keith, fifty four years old and from the well to do area in the north of the city. Behind the pictures and license Tiffany discovered a wad of notes, yanking them out quickly and counting through them. Mainly fifties, the odd twenty, her female intuition had been spot on as she counted the better part of $8,000 in notes. Of course, when somebody pulls up in a flash car, immaculate suit and throws a few hundred dollars at you like it's loose change, their isn't really much intuition involved, but nevertheless, she remained happy with the nights work. Chucky would be happy, the ring alone would cover the month's rent as she squinted at the hallmark etched along the inside diameter of the gold wedding band. It was at this point that a neighbour from one of the occupied apartments above started hammering on the floor, the pounding echoing through Tiffany's ceiling and making her jump.

"Valentine!" The voice hollered through the floorboards. "Keep it down you fucking whore!"

The noise from the bed had picked up slightly as she had become engrossed in the contents of the wallet. She had been careless in that regard, but luckily enough there was still time to rectify that error. Returning to the bed, Tiffany grabbed the knife from the mattress and hurried to the head of the bed, Keith squirming still as she simply ran the blade across his throat, blood spilling across his chest as his eyes looked into hers as if to ask 'why?' It took less than ten seconds before the body ceased struggling and remained lifeless across the bed. That was the hard bit done as far as she was concerned. All that mattered now was to get rid of the fucking creep and be done with it, no trail, nothing. Leaving the room with a smile across her face and a happy feeling filling her sadistic little heart Tiffany headed to the kitchen, the meat cleaver resting in the cutlery drawer her intended target as she danced past the living room door, her feet moving quickly across the bare wood. As she passed, she glanced inside, the TV playing to itself, as it often did just in case anybody should drop by and find her 'indisposed'.

That was the moment she noticed it.

Subconsciously at first, not registering until she had more or less reached the kitchen, making her stop dead in her tracks and freeze. She slowly walked backwards, her footsteps lacking the enthusiasm that had been present just seconds before as she reached the living room door again, taking in the sight as the WDOL nine o'clock news played to itself in the corner of the room, the only light in the room emanating from the flickering picture of the TV set. She couldn't believe it, almost breaking down as her spine stiffened, the blood rushing from her face as the ice cold feeling enveloped her and seemed to submerge her under a wave of disbelief. The headline scrolling across the bottom of the screen was dancing from right to left as though taunting her, just as she thought things were going to be alright, ripping the carpet of life right out from under her feet.

**LAKESHORE STRANGLER DEAD: CHARLES LEE RAY GUNNED DOWN**

Unable to speak, Tiffany sank to the floor, sitting open mouthed as she looked at the screen in terror and rage, the newscaster taking great joy in announcing the death of a man, her man, thought to be behind a series of brutal murders around the Laksehore area over the past couple of years. The words were blaring from the TV, but they were entering one ear before shooting straight out the other, Tiffany unable to focus, to acknowledge a word that was now being said. She'd always feared this day would come. She'd warned him to be careful, only do what he had to, not get reckless, now it would seem her worst fears were coming true, the scenario playing out on the news confirming the gravest of information. Unable to do anything else, Tiffany sobbed. Her face a mess as the tears streamed down her cheeks, eye shadow and mascara beginning to run as she sat heartbroken.

Half an hour she had sat there, the paralysis sinking in and unrelenting, eventually letting her stand and make her way to the bathroom as she reached the toilet just in time, the vomit spewing from her throat as she shivered in the cold, remembering just how little she was wearing. The instructions from Chucky had begun to bounce around her head, to get rid of anything concerning him such as photographs, presents, clothes, anything the police may be able to link the two of them together. They each had their own circles, but they were both as bad as each other when it came to occupying themselves. It was only after she had gathered all Chucky's belongings that she remembered the body on the bed, bled out and in need of disposing. Like it or not, she had business to see to. Now as she sat outside the fire burning in front of her, she felt a warmth, the glow of the fire, the burning embers giving off a furnace like heat on this cold November night as she leaned forward and threw more items into the flames. A photograph, a jacket and a shirt, calmly followed by an arm, a head and the driving license of the man Tiffany had killed just over an hour ago, a happy time before her world had been kicked out from under her. There was one thing she couldn't bring herself to do though. As she had been gathering everything linking the two of them together, she had come across a ring, the diamond big enough to sink a cruise liner, sitting on the mantle as she gathered various paraphernalia ready for the fire. Her eyes had welled up again as she looked the ring over, only one explanation in her mind.

He was going to propose...


	3. Chapter 1-1

Chapter 1.1

November 11th 1988

Waking from the deepest sleep, she opened her eyes, the pillow almost suffocating her as she lay face down. Stirring, her arm hanging over the edge of the bed, the empty vodka bottle escaped from her grip and rolled across the bare wood of the bedroom floor, coming to a stop as it gently touched the skirting board beneath the bedroom window. As the sunshine blasted through the gap in the curtains, Tiffany lifted her head and squinted as the influx of light caused her head to erupt in agony, the pounding from deep within, the dry mouth, filled with the stale taste of cigarettes and alcohol. She didn't remember too much about the previous night, or the night before that come to mention it. Rolling on to her back and beginning to massage her temples, she looked at the clock sitting on the bedside table. Almost noon and the last thing she could be bothered thinking about was getting out of bed and beginning yet another day of solitude. That feeling, knowing full well that she wouldn't hear his voice, she wouldn't see his smile, smell him as he wrapped his arms around her and held her tight, the very thought was enough to make her sick as she lay in bed, the covers barely covering her naked figure as she tried to sit up. The jolt of pain through her head made her wince, like somebody had drilled into her skull, started poking around her brain, the nerves bellowing as one. She very carefully swung her legs over the edge of the bed and reached for her cigarettes, lighting the tip and sucking through the filter as the smoke entered her lungs, the sickly feeling refusing to subside. As she stood, she grabbed her thick dressing gown from the end of the bed and made her way into the narrow hall of her apartment, heading to the kitchen and noticing a variety of letters, takeout menus and flyers resting beneath the letterbox of her flimsy front door. Stopping she grabbed the mail in one hand and entered the kitchen, turning on the gas stove and removing the cigarette from her lips, holding the end over the burners now spewing gas, the embers of the tip causing the gas to ignite as Tiffany ran her eyes over the mail in her grasp. One marked 'EVICTION NOTICE'. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, muttering to herself as she placed the half smoked cigarette back between her lips and opened the cupboard, rummaging until she eventually found the jar of coffee, scooping a couple of heaped teaspoons into her cup before filling the kettle and placing it on the stove. She wrapped her arms across her chest as she slumped to a sitting position at the small kitchen table, the cold of the winter beginning to set in as she noticed the frost sitting proudly on the kitchen window. As the water in the kettle slowly started to boil, Tiffany stubbed her cigarette out in the ash tray sat on the table, piled high with old cigarette butts and the grey, foul smelling ash of the last week. Feeling a desire to urinate, she stood and skipped to the bathroom, trying not to give the cold wooden floor a chance to freeze her soft, delicate feet as she moved, gracefully, her hair flowing out behind her. Within minutes, she appeared back in the kitchen the kettle beginning to whistle as she lifted it from the stove and killed the gas, pouring the piping hot water into the cup and giving it a quick stir. Extra strong and black, just the thing after a hard night on the vodka. Usually she couldn't stomach the stuff, reminded her too much of paint thinner, but it was all she had in, and she really didn't feel like heading out just yet. The eyes of the neighbourhood most likely falling on her, judging her, whispering behind her back as she walked along, her life changing the moment Chucky died. Almost ending. But as she sat now, staring at the clear sky and radiant sunshine, she knew that she'd have to venture out, because like it or not, life went on.

The irony completely lost on her for the time being.

It had taken a while, but she'd managed it. She finally felt human again, the coffee washing through her system, the caffeine working its way around her body and giving her a little nudge, pushing her towards the bathroom, a wash and a change of clothes vital for the day ahead. Now as she turned and locked her apartment door behind her, she felt a million times better. Dropping the key in her handbag and tearing the bright yellow eviction notice from the door, taking a glance around to see if there were any witnesses to the fact she hadn't made rent, yet again. She could pay the rent easily, the money she had found in Keith's jacket pocket more than enough to keep a roof over her head for the foreseeable future, but she had bigger things on her mind right now. Screwing the notice up and tossing it over the railing, Tiffany headed for the steps and made her way to the street below, the brand new Ferrari still parked against the kerb, majestically awaiting its owner whose life had been so unceremoniously cut short just a couple of short nights ago. Walking on she caught her reflection in the window of a shop, stopping to adjust her hair slightly, push up her boobs and touch up her lipstick before returning it to her handbag and tugging her dress down a touch, her bare legs feeling the chill as her stilettos clicked along the sidewalk. Image was everything in this game, and she always liked to make a good impression, none more so than now, as she rounded the corner and crossed the empty, trash littered street, reaching out and grabbing the door handle as she pushed it open and made her way inside Gerry Goldsmith's pawn shop.

Resting on the counter, the wire mesh the only security on offer, Gerry lifted his eyes from his paper and took another puff of his cigar, his face lighting up in delight as his eyes moved up the frame of the young woman that had just entered his store. Her blonde hair flowing freely, her short dress and her killer body made Gerry lose all interest in the story he had just seconds ago been engrossed in, shoving the paper to one side as he removed the short stub of a cigar from his mouth, his fat little fingers working overtime.

"Miss Valentine," He greeted her as she approached the counter. "What a pleasant surprise."

Tiffany paused, taking a quick look around as though interested in the junk on offer. Rings gracing the glass fronted display beneath Gerry's waist, guitars of various makes and models hanging from the walls, firearms and knives displayed behind Gerry himself and a whole plethora of useless rubbish people had brought in, Gerry's place the last call of the damned as the locals hocked whatever they could find in a valiant effort to make rent.

"Gerry." She replied as she cast her eyes around the store, slowly but surely making her way to the counter. Sure enough, she finally reached her destination and dug her hand into her bag, withdrawing the wedding ring, the property of the late Keith Allen.

"What can you tell me about this?" She asked, placing the ring onto the glass surface beneath her hand.

Gerry removed the cigar and placed it neatly in the ash tray by his side, picking the ring up and placing it on his little finger, the extremely long finger nail freaking Tiffany out slightly, as it always did. Eyeing the ring up and paying extra attention to the hallmark, Gerry took a deep breath and looked surprised.

"Twenty two carat, yellow gold, extra heavyweight, about 5mm..." Gerry exhaled, the words escaping under his breath as he blinked his eyes and took another look, a closer examination of the ring. "Quality piece, no doubt about it, probably retails for about $2,500, give or take a couple hundred."

As he finished, he placed the ring back on the glass counter and pushed it back under the wire mesh, towards Tiffany.

"So how much would you give me for it?" She asked, flashing Gerry her best smile.

"$100..." Gerry replied as he pulled his paper back under his nose and grabbed the cigar, his attention now turned back towards the article he had previously been invested in.

Tiffany looked at him for a brief second before laughing, trying to figure out if this was a joke.

"Come on," She laughed as she picked the ring up, turning it over in her hand as she gave it a quick once over. "You just said yourself, it's worth $2,500 easy."

Gerry turned his attention back to Tiffany.

"Correction." He pointed to the ring now sat in Tiffany's hand. "That ring would have been worth $2,500 if bought new and from a reputable retailer in the city. As it stands, that ring isn't new, far from it."

He paused to cough up some phlegm, turning to spit in the direction of the waste bin placed strategically behind the counter, before spinning back to her.

"In fact Tiffany I'm surprised it's not still attached to some poor fucker's finger. What was it? Some old boy on his way home one night, minding his own business, happy as can be until he came across you and your god damn boyfriend?" He placed the ends of his fingers flat on the paper under his nose and rotated it half a turn, sliding it under the barrier dividing them for Tiff to take in the article Gerry had been engrossed in. The image of Chucky's lifeless corpse leaping from the page, Gerry continued as he pulled the paper back towards him. "And as for a reputable retailer... You may be a lot of things Miss Valentine, but that you most certainly are not."

He finished with a smile, his bald head and round little face wrinkling slightly under the unfamiliar muscle movement beneath the skin as his lips parted and displayed a row of black and yellow teeth. As he returned his gaze to the paper, Tiffany's mouth dropped open, disbelief at the manner in which Gerry had just addressed her. She was quite literally stunned, speechless almost, as she found her mouth moving on its own.

"But come on Gerry. Surely you can..." She was instantly cut off, Gerry not even bothering to look away from his newspaper, licking his finger and flipping the page over as he calmly answered her.

"$100..." He replied. "Take it or leave it!"

Tiffany tried to remain calm, screwing her lips shut before another word could leap out, landing her in trouble. As she nodded, she took another look around. Despite the overwhelming build up of crap and the endless mountains of cheap gold plated jewellery, there was still some pretty good stuff in Gerry's store. With that, an idea flickered into her head, her lips relaxing as they spoke seductively, Tiffany leaning across the counter and pressing her nose against the mesh, crossing her arms and pushing her chest up, her breasts catching Gerry's attention as he looked up to be greeted by such a beautiful sight as the twenty seven year old stunner addressed him.

"What about store credit?" She asked as she bit her lip and looked him in the eyes, Gerry stammering slightly as he spoke.

"W... Well that would... Err... Depend..." He prised his eyes from Tiffany's chest.

"On what?" Tiffany asked as she lifted her hand and began twirling her hair around her finger.

"Well do you actually see anything you want?" Gerry asked as his arms swept out before him, causing Tiffany to twist her head and take in the cave full of crap before her, the only thing of any interest being a knife that happened to double as a nail file, the end curling round in a beautiful flick, the tempered steel sitting in the uniquely crafted handle bearing all manner of skulls and gothic symbols. Gerry was aiming too high with the price tag though, $80 was more than anybody in this area would be willing to pay for something that, to them anyway, would be no more than ornamental. Standing and turning full circle, Tiffany fixed Gerry a disgusted look and rammed the ring back in her bag, her right arm shooting out, middle finger extended, much to Gerry's surprise.

"Fuck you Gerry." She spat, the vitriol gushing from her words as she grabbed the nearest piece of junk, a snow globe containing a miniature model of the Eiffel Tower, the words 'I Love Paris' emblazoned across the base. The glass dome shattered into what looked like a million pieces as it came into contact with the wire mesh barrier separating Tiffany from Gerry, water spraying in every direction as he instinctively ducked behind the glass counter. Without a second glance, Tiffany turned and headed to the door, stepping into the cool November breeze and letting the chilling conditions envelope her long, smooth legs as the wood slammed in the door frame. Taking a deep breath, she looked up and down the street, before allowing her eyes to fall on the decaying building immediately opposite her, the flickering neon light in the window of O'Grady's bar almost beckoning her as it blinked, indicating in the cheapest and tackiest way possible that the bar was indeed open and ready for business. Not paying any attention to the oncoming traffic, Tiffany began to cross the street, a screech of tyres and the incessant honking of a cars horn startling as the driver berated her for not checking. Spinning and slamming the palm of her hand on the hood of the car, Tiffany gave him a few words of her own before flipping him the middle finger and turning, crashing through the doors of O'Grady's, the vast bar area already half occupied as every head turned to stare, the room suddenly falling silent as Tiffany came to a standstill. Composing herself, she smoothed out her dress and allowed her long, slender legs to carry her across the dirty, rough wooden floor before pulling up a bar stool and waving her hand to the proprietor, the various voices beginning to rise in volume as people returned to their conversations.

"What'll it be Tiff?" The young bar tender spoke as he approached, tossing the dish cloth over his shoulder and spreading his arms across the bar as he addressed her.

"Vodka." She replied, her head still banging from the night before. "Large, with a twist."

"Sure thing." The young man turned and grabbed a glass, heading off to fetch her order.

All of a sudden, Tiffany heard a roar of laughter from the table in the corner of the bar, five men huddled around the table with their beers, eyes focused on Tiffany as she sat, legs crossed, awaiting her order. She knew one of the men, Bill Sutton, from around the neighbourhood, the rumours of domestic abuse following him and his wife no matter where they moved, his wife having a penchant for walking in to doors after Bill had been out for a night with the boys. Although never sharing more than a sentence with the man, Tiffany knew a bastard when she saw one, and there he sat now, flanked by his friends as he leered at her, a smile crossing his lips as she returned his stare before thinking better of it and returning her gaze to the refrigerators behind the bar.

"Hey baby!" Sutton shouted, his square jaw wagging arrogantly as he hollered across the bar at Tiffany, attempting to catch her attention.

Turning her head, she cast her eyes back over his square shoulders, they could have been carved from oak, his chest almost splitting the lumberjack shirt that stretched across his torso as he drew breath.

"You talking to me sweetface?" She asked, a sly smirk appearing.

"Hell yeah." Sutton shouted back over, his friends falling quiet. "That stool looks pretty uncomfortable, you sitting all the way up there."

"I'm fine." She replied, turning to grab her vodka and flipping the bartender a ten dollar bill.

"Are you sure?" He asked, laughter beginning to escape his mouth, the light bouncing unevenly off his broken nose. "Because you can come sit on my face if you fancy baby doll."

The laughter erupted from the table as Bill's friends grabbed their beers and hollered in amusement, Tiffany never taking her eyes from Sutton's face, his attention quickly drawn to the fact she had not intention of backing down. As the volume died down, Sutton became agitated at Tiffany's constant glare, barking at her again as his humour gave way to a pissed off demeanour.

"You got something you wanna say sweetheart?" He growled.

Tiffany span on her stool, her long legs crossed immaculately under her near perfect torso as she clapped her hands together and leaned slightly forward, her mouth doing its usual thing and running on autopilot.

"I'm just wondering why a man as well built as yourself would want me to sit on his face." She asked, a puzzled look on her pretty face. "Maybe... That's your way of owning up to the fact that your nose is bigger than your dick!"

She gave a giggle of laughter as the table feel eerily silent, Sutton standing up as one of his friends put an arm up to stop him, the gesture batted away as Sutton grabbed the morning paper and stomped from behind the table before making his way to the bar, Tiffany suddenly wishing she'd kept her mouth shut. As he came to a stop, he threw the paper on the bar, the front page visible out of the corner of Tiffany's eye, Chucky's picture once more making the news. Her attention suddenly diverted, she felt a hand across the back of her head as Sutton's palm came crashing across it, almost knocking her off the stool, in fact it probably would have done, had he not caught her by the throat as she fell forward.

"Now you listen to me." He sneered at her through gritted teeth, his face bright red, anger and embarrassment rippling through him as he spoke. "We've already got rid of one dirty sack of shit this week, I'm sure we'd be doing the world a favour if we helped put you in the same hole as this fucking asshole! Besides which, it seems he was more interested in some slut he had tied up in his fucking basement than some cheap, junky, whore like you!"

She choked, struggling for breath as her eyes began to well up, her hands desperately clawing at Sutton's forearm, scratching as she frantically tried to prise him away from her. As she gasped, he leaned in and whispered in her ear.

"That fucking loser ain't here to protect you any more baby." His voice sent a chill down her spine, the threat hitting home as he took pleasure in antagonising her. "Now if I were you, I'd go home and OD on some of that shit I've seen you cramming up your nose. Because if I ever see you around here again..."

He paused...

"I'll kill you..." She could feel his warm breath on her ear as he finally relinquished his grasp on her throat, Tiffany rocking back and taking a deep breath, the tears streaming down her cheeks. As she sat, shaking, Sutton turned to walk off, turning his head slightly as he delivered his final words.

"But only after I've had some fun with you..."

The young man watching from behind the bar seemed shocked, his face dropping open, speechless as Sutton grabbed his paper and returned to his friends, throwing the paper onto the table top and declaring quite loudly that he needed to take a leak. As Tiffany watched, a spark ignited inside her chest as she stood from the stool and raced from the bar, the cold air hitting her like a ton of weights as she stared straight back over to Gerry Goldmith's pawn shop.

The door flew open as Gerry, mop in one hand, brush in the other turned to address his new customer, a double take as he noticed it was Tiffany, his body freezing on the spot. He closed his eyes as she marched towards him, the footsteps loud as her heels smacked against the floor, travelling straight past him and behind the now open counter as Gerry opened his eyes and looked at her in confusion. Pulling the stolen wedding ring of Keith Allen from her bag and slamming it on the glass counter, Tiffany fixed him a stare and spoke.

"Store credit!" She grunted as she turned on the spot and grabbed the knife/nail file hanging from the wall behind her and marched straight back the way she came, the door crashing shut as Gerry stood completely silent, puzzled as to what had just happened.

As she returned to O'Grady's bar, a few heads turned and stared, none interested enough to take more than a second to glance at her before returning to their boring little lives. As she headed past her drink, her feet hardly touching the ground, Tiffany headed down the corridor situated near the end of the bar and almost jogged to the men's restroom situated right at the far end.

'Nice and quiet' She thought as she reached the door, looking back up the incredibly long, narrow corridor to make sure she wouldn't be interrupted.

Swinging the door open she took a step inside, an open door frame, no door, awaiting as she walked through and into the filthy, grime riddled men's room. There in front of her stood Bill Sutton, his back to her as he leaned forward, one hand wrapped around his penis, the other hand up, flat against the wood panelled wall and supporting him as he urinated against the tiles, the steady stream of urine flowing into the makeshift trough chiselled in the ground, flowing freely into the alley out back. As he looked up and into the mirror in front of his face, he caught Tiffany in his reflection and gave a smile.

"I get it." He smugly exclaimed. "That little episode got your fires burning too did it?"

Tiffany didn't say a word. Merely waiting for an opportunity.

"That's okay," His eyes returned to his urine as it sprayed back off the tiles. "You don't have to say anything..."

It was at this moment Tiffany raced forward, her hand held aloft, the knife glistening in the sunlight as it beamed in through the narrow windows of the restroom, Sutton catching sight of it at the very last second as he felt the twisted end of the knife sink through his hand held flat against the wall, and into the wood beneath, the force enough to more or less staple him to the wall as his legs buckled from under him, his body flopping backwards as the knife became the only thing supporting his weight. His legs flailing, skidding across the ururine soaked tiles of the floor, he began to cry out in pain, twisting his head upwards to look at the handle of the knife sticking out of the wall, of his hand. He hadn't even noticed Tiffany brush herself off and walk straight past him.

'click-click' as her heels struck the ceramic flooring.

She reached the solitary bathroom stall, almost kicking the door from its hinges, disappearing inside as Sutton's attention turned to the unsettling scraping noise of ceramic, Tiffany ripping the lid from the cistern of the toilet. Slowly emerging, the huge chunk of heavy porcelain in her hands she slowly walked back to Bill, trapped.

'Click-click.'

Without saying a word, she fixed him a smile as she swung both hands back and brought the cistern lid smashing into his face, his nose instantly breaking once more, teeth flying free from the gums and landing across the restroom, his cheek fracturing on impact as he squealed in agony. Once more he turned to her, dazed, disorientated as he caught a glance of the porcelain crash into his face once more, almost knocking him out cold. At this point his body went limp, Tiffany reaching up and placing the sole of her heel flat against the wall, pulling with both hands as the knife eventually came free of the wall. As Sutton's body flopped lifelessly to the ground, she placed the nail file knife into her bag and once more picked up the ceramic lid, raising it high over her head as she arced her back, all strength exploding in one monumental effort as she gallantly brought the heavy cistern lid crashing down across Sutton's face once more, the porcelain exploding into thousands of pieces as Sutton's face fractured underneath, the bloody pulp before her no longer resembling the man she had only moments ago been powerless to defend herself against. Kneeling besides him, she slipped her hands into his pockets, his flaccid member still hanging free, his zipper down as he involuntarily continued to urinate. Pulling her hand free, Tiffany produced a wallet from Bill's pocket, smiling and giving a little laugh as she dropped it in her bag before standing to leave. She could hear him breathing, snorting as the blood filled his airways, slowly beginning to choke him as she rubbed her hands together and headed for the exit, finding an 'Out Of Order' sign hanging from the back of the restroom door. Snatching at it she hung it on the hook outside and returned to the bar sadistic glee tearing up her spine. As she approached her drink she noticed people still enthralled in their own lives, no attention paid to her as she made her way seamlessly from the restroom to the bar, grabbing her vodka and downing it in one before flashing the bartender a wink and sliding the now empty glass back across the bar to him.

"Nothing like a quiet drink." She smiled as she turned and headed for the street outside, stopping by the late Bill Sutton's table and grabbing his paper from the centre of his astonished entourage.

Something Sutton had just said didn't sit well with her...

What the fuck had Chucky been playing at?


	4. Chapter 1-2

Chapter 1.2

November 12th 1988

Throwing her head back, the taste for vodka growing with every mouthful, Tiffany swallowed, the clear liquid burning her throat as she breathed through her nose, the alcohol fuelling her system as she violently lowered her head and removed the bottle from her lips. Allowing a dribble to escape her lips, she wiped the spill from her jumper and pulled the covers up and over her body, the cold unrelenting as winter finally kicked up a gear and began to assault every nerve in her body, her bed the only place of refuge as the apartment resembled one giant ice box. She had money for gas, electric, food, but she didn't have the drive to see to it. The only thing Tiffany could concentrate on was where the next drink was coming from, sleeping and then the next drink once more. Suddenly, she was shaken from her drunken stupor by a pounding, echoing down the hall, the front door almost falling from its hinges under the beating it was taking. Shaking her head and blinking her eyes, Tiffany threw the covers back and stood from the bed, her bare feet skipping across the floor, her thick jumper and jeans eventually found at the back of a rarely used drawer in her dresser, not often seen even in extreme cold like this. Bottle in one hand she entered the hall and made her way to the front door, yanking it open amidst the banging and finding the tattooed figure of Johnny McBride standing there with the biggest smile across his face. Known to people around the area as Johnny M, he had become acquainted with Tiffany over the years as a kind of on/off dealer, peddling his weed and other paraphernalia around the apartments at all hours, day and night. Usually Tiffany was happy to see Johnny, but now, as she took in his tall, gangly and colourful figure, she simply found nothing of interest.

"Hey Tiff." He beamed, his shoulder length dreadlocks swinging as he moved inwards.

"Johnny." Tiffany replied, her arm shooting out across the gap between door and frame, quickly blocking off any possible entry.

"You're not gonna invite me in?" He stepped back, a little puzzled.

"No." She spat, her eyes narrowing in disgust. "What do you want?"

"I heard about your guy." Johnny, shuffled his feet a little and concentrated on the ground. "I just wanted to say I'm sorry, that's all."

Tiffany opened the door a little wider, lifting her hand from the door knob and taking another swig of vodka.

"Well aren't you the sweetest." She smiled, a haunting look of sarcasm etched on her lips.

"Yeah, so..." Johnny continued. "You need anything? Just let me know if you do yeah?"

"I should be okay thanks." Tiffany took another swig. "I'm off that shit for a while. I need to figure some things out."

"Things?" Johnny laughed. "What kinda things?"

"Just in general. Life, that kinda shit." She answered.

"Well you're not gonna find help at the bottom of a bottle." Johnny smiled coyly as he lifted the see through bag, the smile growing bigger as he noticed Tiffany's eyes dilate, the weed getting her attention as she quickly opened the door fully and grabbed him, yanking him inside and slamming the door behind him.

Thank god for Johnny...

Two hours later, and Tiffany was feeling it. She'd not felt this way in a long time, calm, peaceful, serene, the entire world taking on a much more tranquil haze as she felt herself slowly slipping deeper into the cushions of her dirty, third hand couch. Grasping the filter-less roll up between her fingers, she placed it to her lips and took a deep breath, holding and holding until she felt her lungs cry out in misery, slowly but surely releasing the fumes from her lungs, the smoke floating into the air and dancing a pungent ballet around her head as she passed the remnants of the roll up back to Johnny, laid at the opposite end of the couch and equally at peace. The time had flown since she'd grabbed him from her doorstep before any of the remaining neighbours could see. One of the few people to know of her involvement with Chucky, he hadn't mentioned anything else regarding the incidents of the other night, the police, the shooting, her lover and best friend, gunned down and left for dead by Chicago PD's finest. Smoke billowing from his mouth as his face lit up in delight, Johnny coughed the acrid smoke forward and passed the weed back to Tiffany as he sat up, ready to roll yet another joint.

"So I gotta ask." He began. "You know about all that?"

"Know about what?" Tiffany smiled as she kicked him playfully with her foot.

"Your man, the love of your life. A damn murderer. I always thought he was a little intense, but fuck... You knew?" He started sprinkling the weed into the paper of the cigarette, a very little amount of tobacco to follow.

"Yeah." Tiffany nodded as she examined the joint almost burnt to the end. "I knew."

"No way." Johnny turned back to her, astonished. "Hey did he ever..."

"What?" Tiffany asked, interrupting Johnny.

"He never mentioned... You know." Johnny seemed to be squirming a little. "... killing me?"

Tiffany laughed a little and sat up, thrusting her hand into the ash tray, dousing the finished joint in an instant.

"A couple of times." She carried on laughing. "But don't worry. I talked him out of it. Said I couldn't bare anything to happen to you."

"Really?" Johnny pulled the fresh, drug laden cigarette to his lips and took a drag, passing it immediately to Tiffany. "You must think a lot of me then?" He laughed.

"Not really." She answered seriously as her eyes focused on the joint. "But let's be honest Johnny, where the fuck would we have gotten our shit from?"

She looked at Johnny, his face shooting from happiness to dismay in less than a second, leaning forward on the couch and cradling his head in his hands.

"Ouch." He gasped, attempting a half assed laugh.

"I'm glad you called round though." Tiffany mumbled, before taking a drag. "Honestly I am."

Johnny sat up straight, turning his head slightly and taking in the site before him. As she lay on the couch, the heavy woollen sweater lending her a cute, cuddly appearance, he felt the drugs buzzing around his head. Without thinking he lunged towards her, his arms wrapping around her curvy frame as Tiffany's eyes flew wide open in shock. As he leaned in to kiss her, Tiffany leaned back, as far as she could go, deeper into the cushions, the burning tip of the joint still gripped firmly between her lips. With nowhere else to go, the wriggling body of Johnny McBride atop her, his hands working furiously to unbutton her jeans, Tiffany did the only thing she could think of. Lifting the crudely wrapped cigarette from her lips as Johnny tried to kiss her, the panic took over as she pushed it into his eye, the sizzling sound of burning flesh causing him to fly back in pain as the agony sent him sprawling across the filthy floor of Tiffany's living room, screams of bewildered, excruciating pain filling the void separating them as Johnny lifted his hands to his face, tears rolling down his cheeks.

"What the fuck Tiff?" He yelled.

"Johnny, I..." Tiffany started.

But she was cut off mid sentence, as Johnny stood, his tall frame filling the window behind him as he instinctively reached into his pocket and withdrew the flick knife, the switch making Tiffany jump as the blade of the knife flew from its handle, the sun light glistening along the thin, serrated edge.

"You shouldn't have done that Tiff!" Johnny spat as he wiped the tears from his face.

Snapped from her drug addled state by the events unfolding in front of her, Tiffany lay perfectly still, waiting to see how things unfolded as Johnny moved the knife from hand to hand, starting to laugh, giggle, as he took small, calm steps towards her.

"I didn't mean to..." She started again.

"Shut your fucking mouth." He interrupted, shooting her down in an instant.

As he took one final step Tiffany realised it was too late to make a move, Johnny almost on top of her once more as his shadow fell across her body. She hadn't felt like this in a long time, not even the day before, as Bill Sutton's hand wound its way around her neck and slowly strangled the air from her lungs. Pulling her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around her body, Tiffany felt a fear unlike any other as her former friend started to unbuckle the belt of his jeans, dropping them to the floor, his underwear quickly following as he stood before her, his intentions clear.

"Lose the jeans." He murmured, the weed still giving him a high.

"Please Johnny..." She began to beg.

"Lose them!" He repeated, the knife gesturing downwards as his hands floated in front of him.

With no sign of an escape route, and nothing to defend herself with, Tiffany realised she had no choice, slowly unfolding her legs, stretching out across the couch at a diagonal angle as her feet delicately touched the floor. Reaching down and pulling up the bottom of her thick sweater, she fumbled for the button of her jeans, her hands shaking as she unhooked the clasp and unzipped them arcing her back as she slowly slid the denim and accompanying underwear across her smooth legs and towards her ankles. As she sat back up, she looked into Johnny's eyes, glazed over as he waved the knife again, sideways this time.

"Spread 'em!" He ordered, his voice silently gliding through the air, poison to her ears.

Slowly, she opened her legs, terror filling every pore of her body as her spine began to tingle, stiffen up and ache, the sickness spreading throughout her body like a wildfire as Johnny slowly leaned over her, lowering himself on top of her and kissing her. She tried to turn her head, get away from the sight of him as she closed her eyes, trying to find a happy place, somewhere to disappear to. Johnny had other ideas though, grabbing her chin and snapping her head towards his face as he looked into her eyes.

"You fucking look at me!" He snarled, the knife floating inches from her face as he leaned further in, his lips making her skin crawl as he kissed her, his arms shooting either side of her head, digging into the arm of the couch as she felt his erection brush up against her, Tiffany gasping as he slowly, quietly, but unrelentingly entered her. She felt lost, her world freefalling, the darkness enveloping her as she tried to black it out, but it was no use. Suddenly, Johnny thrust forward, his erection filling her all at once, making her eyes tear as the situation became even clearer. As he kissed her, he pulled back, the empty space between her legs immediately filled once more as he lunged forward and filled her again, every inch bringing even more despair. Fighting back was useless, she could tell this, but she noticed that as the minutes went on, the more involved in the situation Johnny became, the less attention he paid to her. All the while she waited, every second, every touch, every caress and thrust filling her with hatred and murderous rage as she slowly moved her hand to towards his, the knife still in his grasp, his mind elsewhere as emotions became too much for him, Johnny beginning to reach climax within minutes. As he started panting, Tiffany felt him swell and throb inside her, Johnny throwing his head back in ecstasy as he ejaculated, the feeling sweeping through him, a wave of euphoria as he felt himself reach the crest of the wave. It was in this instant, as Johnny carried on, a huge smile appearing upon his face, that Tiffany suddenly and without warning grabbed the flick knife from Johnny's hand, the moment causing him to lose focus as he felt her snatch the blade and opened his eyes in shock. The vision before him was a different one to what he had expected as she lay beneath him , a look of disgust shooting straight at Johnny as Tiffany's hand, knife and all, dropped to the living room floor before instantly cutting up, slicing through the air and landing in the side of Johnny's neck, the blood flying from the wound as Tiffany withdrew the knife before ramming it in again, the artery bursting as the blade sliced clean through, Johnny's face taking on a look of shock, horror and surprise. In and out, over and over, she pulled the knife free from his neck, before plunging it back in, the blood spraying across her chest and face as Johnny's hand reached up, feeling at the wound as Tiffany let go of the knife, now sticking clear of Johnny's neck. Before taking his last breath he turned back to her, his face full of regret as he finally gave up the ghost, flopping forward and lying across Tiffany, pinning her to the couch as he lay still inside her, his body now lifeless as Tiffany tried to push him off.

It was no use though. His body weighing a hell of a lot more than she had originally thought. Spinning her head and looking around her immediate vicinity, Tiffany noticed the situation she now found herself in, as she lay flat on her back, legs wide open with the dead body of her former friend, her rapist, laying on top of her. Beside the couch, on the floor, she noticed the joint, still casually burning away, the tip smoking, bright orange as she reached down and brought it back up to her lips, fumbling down the back of the couch and finding the remote for the TV. As she took a huge drag, she looked up into Johnny's haunting eyes and turned her head away in disgust, aiming the remote at the TV and pressing the power button as the TV set fired into life, WDOL news seeming to just finish a story focusing on a multi car pileup, just the other side of the city. It was as she lay there puffing on the drug filled cigarette, her thoughts running away from her, the last five minutes beginning to catch up and make her mind spin, that something else caught her attention. Turning to the TV set in disbelief, Tiffany tried to sit up, but found it impossible, Johnny's body still warm, filling her and making her uncomfortable as she turned the volume up and stared vacantly at the report unfolding in front of her. What she saw was bizarre.

"Thank you Terri." The anchor spoke as he turned to address the camera. "The body of a man discovered after an explosion at a derelict building on Cicero avenue, Austin has been officially identified by police this morning. Eddie Kaputo, a fugitive from Chicago Police Department after feeling his captors during a transfer to a prison bus, was killed in the explosion that brought the property crashing down on top of him. With only a six year old boy as a witness, police were less than optimistic about a positive identification, the pathologists reluctantly resorting to dental records."

Tiffany's eyes widened even more as she began to laugh, the bellows of laughter beginning to fill the almost empty room, the walls reverberating with each cackle. She'd never liked Eddie, always sneering at her, his eyes mentally undressing her whenever she shared the same room as him. As the news anchor began talking again, she quietened down.

"Kaputo was first arrested on the evening of November 9th, and questioned concerning charges of aiding and abetting serial killer Charles Lee Ray, known by thousands as 'The Lakeshore Strangler'. Ray was shot and killed that same night by Chicago Police as he fled his home after police received tip off concerning the disappearance of local woman Sarah Pirce, eight months pregnant, later found gagged, bound and injured in Ray's basement. Miss Pirce was later rushed to hospital where she was given a caesarean section, Ray's assault causing complications."

As Chucky's image flashed up on screen, Tiffany felt a wave of nausea ripple over her as she pulled her legs up and pushed as hard as she could against Johnny's chest, his body falling with a crumpled 'thud' to the floor. Tiffany sat up, stunned, Johnny's blood spilling over the incredibly thin carpet, pooling around his body as he lay motionless, his eyes boring into Tiffany as she flicked the remote once more, powering the TV off.

Time to visit an old friend...

Slipping the cab driver a couple of twenty dollar bills, Tiffany opened the door and stepped out onto the side walk, standing gracefully as she turned and slammed the door shut, the cab immediately hitting the gas and screeching away from the run down area she now found herself surrounded by. As the snow fell around her, slowly, delicately floating as it hit the ground and melted into the whiteness covering the asphalt she took a step toward the alley, carefully hidden between the two dilapidated buildings. The darkness beckoning her onwards she took in the smell of urine and marijuana as she took another look around, various people, homeless, wasted, strung out as they went about what resembled a life, failing to pay Tiffany a second thought as she slipped down the alleyway and out of sight. The jeans and polo neck had been a bizarre, but inspired decision as the chill wrapped around her and squeezed the last gasp of air from her lungs, her breath swimming into the air around her as she hurriedly made her way to the back of the building, the courtyard behind the apartments opening out as a thriving mini community thrived along, the apartments stacked on top of each other, resembling a high rise shanty town. The smell of food as people cooked, the snow dampening no spirits as laughter echoed, bouncing from each wall. Washing flapped in the cold November breeze, how the hell the multitudes of people thought it was going to dry as flakes of snow floated around them, Tiffany had no idea. She'd never noticed this before, but the entire row of faces before her were of Caribbean descent, laughing and joking as they threw rice, peas, chicken and whatever else in pots, the stoves beneath burning bright as the stews and rice boiled, steam escaping the pans and spiralling into the cold afternoon air. Making her way through the small crowd, chickens clucking around her as people barked orders and friendly banter back and forth, Tiffany reaching her destination in no time at all, skipping up the small wooden steps and onto a veranda of the ground floor apartment. Looking around, she slowly clenched her fist and raised her arm, allowing her hand to hammer on the door a handful of could hear movement on the other side, shuffling as the occupant moved towards the door, the footsteps falling closer and closer with every second until the door was instantly pulled open, the chain preventing it from opening fully. Looking back at her, slightly shocked, the face spoke as the eyes grew wider.

"You!" The man spoke, his face contorted in confusion.

"Hello John." Tiffany spoke as she reached down and opened her purse, John's eyes following as she withdrew her hand, the pack of cigarettes gripped firmly as she removed one from the packet and placed the filter between her lips, the blood of Johnny McBride freshly washed away before leaving her apartment. As she replaced the packet, Tiffany removed her lighter and calmly lit the cigarette, taking a deep puff as she closed her bag and looked John square in the eyes, her high pitched voice resonating. "Long time no see."

"What do you want?" He spat, rage taking over as he struggled to confine his temper.

"I need to come in." Tiffany replied, her voice unmoved. "It's important. Just for a minute. Please."

Without saying a word, John stood speechless before slamming the door, leaving Tiffany stood in the cold wind. Leaving it a few seconds, Tiffany decided the game was up and turned, ready to leave, her efforts in vain. She'd only taken one step when the grating noise from behind the door startled her, causing her to stop, the door springing open as John stood to the side and waved her in, his loose fitting shirt flapping as he swung his arms inwards, the pure white beads wrapped around his neck jingling slightly as he pushed the door closed and turned to address his guest, finding her now taking a seat on the living room couch.

It had been a couple of years since Tiffany had last seen John, the apartment changing incredibly over time as she took in the garish surroundings, the masks adorning the walls, the tacky furniture littering the apartment as candles burned in each and every visible nook and cranny. If anything, she felt at home surrounded by plethora of junk. Looking up as she crossed her legs and took another drag of her cigarette, she found the staggered figure of John Bishop standing before her, his face twisting with rage as he clenched his fists. Slightly nervous, Tiffany knew John well enough to know that violence wasn't his forte. In all the years Chucky had known him, he had been arrested once, at a protest of some sort, and a peaceful one at that, a night in the cells for resisting arrest. How Chucky had laughed about that. Suddenly he spoke.

"What do you want?" He spat again. "Say what you will and leave. You have no business here!"

"I take it you heard the news?" Tiffany asked as she removed the butt from her lips, the smoke spiralling into the air. "Chucky's dead!"

"Yes!" John span on the spot, reaching out to the small table besides him and grabbing the paper, holding it up and pointing the same picture of Chucky, laying dead besides the dolls. "I had heard. Not before time by the sounds of it."

"Now, now." Tiffany's leg began to kick slightly as it hung over her opposite knee, playfully kicking the air as she replaced the burning embers of nicotine between her lips and inhaled. "That's not a nice thing to say. Not about a friend."

"He was no friend!" John took a step towards her, throwing the paper to the ground as the papers scattered in all directions. "That man used me! He gained my trust. The trust of my elders, my brothers, gaining our knowledge, all the while parading round this city, preying on the vulnerable! That is no friend of mine!"

"What're you talking about knowledge?" Tiffany asked, surprised.

"That doesn't matter. The key to everlasting life is not something one can be taught. It requires faith of the highest order. Something that man could never possess."

"What do you mean? I don't understand. Do you remember when was the last time you saw him?" Tiffany asked casually, John taking a step backwards as he lowered his hands to his sides, his mind racing.

"Of course you don't you stupid girl! As for the last time I saw him... I cannot remember that." He answered. "But I wish to Damballa I had never set on eyes on his evil little face. The day I met him, will forever haunt me."

"The press keep mentioning a woman. Something Pirce?" She leaned forward and tossed the burnt out cigarette to the floor. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about that would you John?"

"I have no idea!" He answered calmly, dropping to sit on the seat behind him, rubbing his head with his fingers, confrontation not one of his strong points. "The media are mentioning a great deal I did not know about our mutual friend."

"So you knew nothing at all?" She asked, pressing for information, standing to examine one of the intricately carved masks hung beside her on the wall. As she stood, her bag fell from her shoulder and hit the soft cushions of the couch, falling over as the contents spilled from the unzipped opening, John's eyes shocked and enraged as the blood stained flick knife of Johnny McBride hit the wooden floor and skidded towards his feet. As Tiffany turned to examine the commotion from the couch, her eyes immediately fell on the knife, panic tearing through her soul. Suddenly John stood, taking a huge stride forward and grabbed her arm, throwing her bag into her chest, pulling her along with force, ushering her towards the door, he obviously didn't want her there, and Tiffany knew she would do well not to resist.

"What's the rush?" She asked. "Can't we talk?" She almost tripped over her boots as she was manhandled the short distance to the exit.

"I have nothing more to say to you Tiffany!" Calmness streaked through john's words. "I want nothing to do with you, either of you, in life or death. In fact, I feel degraded for having ever shared a room with either of the pair of you!"

Reaching out with his free hand, John's hand fell on the handle as he pulled the door open and gave Tiffany a shove into the cold afternoon air, causing her to spin as he relinquished his grip, leaving her stood on the wooden deck. A few of the neighbours had noticed the commotion, stopping to listen and take in the argument. Stunned, she took one last look at him and pleaded for help.

"Please." She begged as she held her hands out in a prayer. "I need answers. I don't even know his address!"

Panting, John stood motionless, his eyes examining every wrinkle on her face as the tears started to well up. Without saying another word, he left the door wide open and disappeared back inside, the heat emanating from within and filling Tiffany with a warm comfort. Before Tiffany could take a step back towards the apartment, John appeared once more, his hand thrusting forward as he handed her a piece of paper.

"That is what you require. So be it." He motioned for her to take the paper.

"What is it?" She asked as she reached out.

"That my dear child, is the address of the late Charles Lee Ray!" He turned back to the apartment, ready to slam the door in her face. "Now be gone with you. The smell is already unbearable!"

And with that he threw the door closed, leaving Tiffany nothing but a piece of paper, the barely legible writing leaping at her, increasingly so as her tears began to fall, hitting the paper, the puddles spreading outwards as they splashed along the surface. Folding the paper and sliding it into her bag, Tiffany raced down the steps and through the courtyard, hurriedly reaching the urine soaked alleyway and reaching the street, raising her arms and hollering at a passing yellow cab. As the cab skidded to a halt, Tiffany pulled open the rear door and jumped inside, reading the address John had given her to the driver as she placed her bag beside her on the seat. Just as the driver began to set off, he instantly slammed on the brakes, throwing Tiffany forward from her seat, almost banging her face into the seat in front of her as the driver began cursing.

"What was that?" Tiffany asked, sitting upright and leaning back in the seat, confused.

"Looked like some kid." The driver angrily replied. "Ran straight in front of the car. Little ass hole!"

Craning her neck round to the alleyway she had just emerged from, Tiffany caught a slight glimpse as the child headed round the corner. A head of ginger hair, blue dungarees and trainers so red standing out against the snowy background.

"Some people..." Tiffany began, as she turned back to face forward. "... Shouldn't have kids!"

Sitting at the kitchen table, head in his hands, his heart racing, John sat and regained his composure, the confrontation with Tiffany not going as well as he could have hoped, but ending without any unpleasant business nonetheless. Standing to his weathered and aching feet, he strolled into the kitchen and reached for a cup, the tea bag in his hand tossed quickly inside as he was made to jump by an unexpected, yet eerily familiar voice.

"Hello John..."

Reaching the address, the cab driver slowed to a stop, the tyres skidding slightly on the slush built up beside the road. They had reached the address John had given them, Tiffany speechless at the state of the area. Burnt out cars, addicts, every manner of peasant floating along on a high as they sniffed glue and aerosols, staggering across the road as cars whizzed past, horns blaring at them to get out of the way.

"You sure you don't want dropping at the door?" The driver spun in his seat.

"No." Tiffany answered as she ran her eyes over the neighbourhood.

She could see the entrance to the four storey apartment block now, a solitary car parked outside, the light on top indicating a police presence somewhere nearby. She was just about to reach into her purse and pay the driver of the cab, stopping suddenly as two figures raced from the apartment block and headed towards the police car. A spark made Tiffany's head spin as she cast her eyes on the man. His leather jacket and tan pants, the swept back head of immaculate hair and the chiselled face. That was the man held responsible for shooting Chucky. The cop, his name escaping her as she sat stunned, watching from the back of the cab. The woman with him was unrecognisable, dressed in her long camel hair coat, shoulder length blonde hair, maybe his partner, both of them a blur as they jumped in the car and fired the engine, the wheels screeching as he floored the gas pedal and took off down the main street. Try as she might, she couldn't remember the cop's name. She cast her eyes over the neighbourhood again and quietly slipped the driver a couple of twenties, opening the door and quickly leaving the cab, the broad heels of her boots beginning to make dull thuds in the snow as she walked away from the cab and approached the dirty looking building at the bottom of the hill, the brown front looking desperately in need of a wash, or a friendlier coat of paint. Crossing the street, Tiffany entered the building, head down as she searched for apartment 6, a ground floor apartment, the bags of garbage stacked at the bottom of the stairs outside the door letting off a foul and putrid odour. As she immediately came face to face with the door, for some reason left wide open, she took another look around. The door swung ever so slightly, the police no doubt leaving in the middle of searching the place. As she entered the entry of the apartment she felt the coldness creep over her, a window left slightly open in the next room no doubt, the smell of damp still relatively overpowering as she moved inside and closed the door behind her. Moving quickly through the door in front of her, she felt her heart sink as she finally took in the sight on the wall straight opposite, the mural bewildering her, all the while ripping into her stomach and stirring the contents, the nausea making her feel faint as she took a step into the room and rotated a full turn. The walls had been painted a dark, unsettling purple colour, the mural depicting a man, naked and on his knees, inflicting cuts to his arm, time and again as the naked figures of both male and female forms lay before the face of some kind of deity. Mannequin parts, and dolls filled every corner of the room, hanging from the walls as Tiffany slowly raised her hand to her mouth, the shock sickening her deeply. The table besides the couch disturbed her as she knelt slightly and placed a hand upon it, the thick rug like texture of the surface covering the source of the legs protruding from beneath. The sight of bodies, gracing the wall behind her, as they became entwined, reaching outwards for salvation, the words 'Thank you oh mighty Damballa for life after death' displayed prominently amongst the insane brushstrokes. Turning back to the main mural, the unsettling images of harm and sacrifice leaping from the plaster, Tiffany took another long step, her boots thudding as they hit the hollow wood of the floor beneath her feet. Right in front of her seemed to be a man, depicted kneeling, reaching and looking up to a figure, Caribbean in origin, dressed head to toe in ceremonial robes, the man at his feet worshipping, as she noticed the resemblance to Chucky, staggering her immensely. Taking a step back and letting her eyes take in the sight once more, she noticed the painted graphic dead centre of the wall. Two flags, crossed halfway along the mast as they appeared to be flanked by a couple of serpents, the star sitting atop them like some weird, demented Christmas tree. As she looked back at the Caribbean figure being adored and worshipped by the man at his knees, she looked into the eyes, lazy, hanging low, the face coming to her instantly. John Bishop. Standing before Chucky, arms flayed out either side, a knife in one, a long staff gripped firmly in the other as he breathed in the praise. What was it John had said to her? "The key to everlasting life is not something one can be taught. It requires faith of the highest order." Something didn't sit right. Repulsed, confused, Tiffany headed to the kitchen, the pin up posters held up by the light fittings lending a cheaper, even tackier feeling to the atmosphere as she looked around. Nothing of interest except the door in the corner. Reaching out and pulling the door, it swung open, Tiffany jumping a mile as a cat came hurtling from nowhere, leaping past her and onto the kitchen counter before racing along the surface and disappearing into the living room, the feline completely unmoved by the barbaric paintwork on offer. Turning back to the door and peering inside, the darkness sent a chill down Tiffany's spine, the top of a staircase leading into the abyss as she reached in and fumbled for a light switch, finding the pull string and yanking it firmly, the stairway suddenly bathed in light from above. The staircase had seen better days, the wood beginning to rot and split beneath her feet as she stepped through the door and began to walk downwards, the room beneath the kitchen coming into view, revealing more and more with every step. The floor was thick with dust as Tiffany took a final step from the bottom of the staircase and covered her mouth, tears beginning to run from her eyes, dancing rapidly across her cheeks as she looked at the bedlam around her. As the light from the windows high on the wall filtered in, she found herself surrounded by literally hundreds of flowers, the yellow petals beginning to turn a variety of deathly shades as the stems wilted in their vases, the rancid smell of decaying pollen hitting her nose and making her want to vomit. Masks, similar to John's place, lined a dresser at the far side of the room and the respective walls, even the beams and pipes above her head bore the foul, long turned, flowers and masks of all shapes and sizes. She slowly walked through the basement and found herself spinning, the same sight greeting her time after time, masks, flowers, death... She found, right in front of her, a small couch. Maybe not a couch, but not a bed either, more of a chaise longue than anything, a small, paisley cushion sat undisturbed at one end. As the eyes and ears of various figures and masks looked down on Tiffany from every conceivable angle, she allowed her eyes to fall to the floor, the pool of dried blood staining the floor of the basement, dead centre of the couch. Tiffany could hear and see the news reports, the anchors' eyes focusing on her as they spoke of a woman, the various news papers speaking of a stabbing, the woman, apparently pregnant, rushed to hospital as surgeons worked frantically to perform a C-section and save her child, the knife judged to be the cause of complications. Taking a step backwards in shock, Tiffany crashed into the dresser as flowers scattered in every direction, masks fell from their position and clattered to the floor, one or two shattering on impact and splintering across the floor as Tiffany's world spiralled into darkness. She knew Chucky was a killer, a cold blooded one at that, but this was something else. Never in a million years did she think he was capable of such a thing. But why was she down here, this Pirce woman, what was the reason? Why did he have her here, restrained, pregnant... Suddenly a thought slammed into her, knocking her sideways. Was Chucky the father? Was it his child? No it couldn't have been. Not even Chucky could perform such a monstrous act. As she began to visibly weep, Tiffany had to get out, her feet moving automatically as she skipped across the floor and towards the decrepit staircase leading to the kitchen. Reaching the top of the stairs, Tiffany raced through the doorway, spinning and grabbing the door, throwing her body up against it as she violently slammed it closed, taking a deep breath of the cool, fresh air circling the room. As she turned and leant against the door, the kitchen shrinking around her as she allowed her eyes to wander, she noticed something. Not noticeable at first, not to the untrained eye at least, but it was there. Hidden away, behind the toaster sat proudly in the corner of the kitchen, the crumbs built around it, sat the corner of a photograph. As Tiffany reached forward, she grabbed the tattered end and pulled the picture free, her face lighting up as her heart skipped a beat. The picture she held in her hand was actually one of hers. Probably the only picture she had of Chucky and her together, taken last new years eve as they partied with various acquaintances at O'Grady's bar, Tiffany pulling a party popper and laughing with delight, her cleavage threatening to overspill, as Chucky took in the surroundings, awestruck as the celebrations exploded around him. She'd lost the picture a while ago, feared lost as she moved from one rundown apartment to another, a casualty of a misled life. Now she had found it, she felt happy again, the thought of Chucky taking it as a memento filling her with joy as she clutched it to her chest and smiled.

Chucky loved her. There was no doubt. The ring, the photograph. She didn't know the story behind this Pirce woman. She probably never would. But she didn't care now as she left the apartment.

Throwing open the door to her tiny, shitty apartment, Tiffany hurried inside taking a step backwards as she shut the door, noticing the letter waiting, the white envelope standing out against the dirty, dark mat. The name scrawled across the envelope in marker simply read 'Miss Tiffany Valentine', no address, no postage, whoever had delivered this had seen fit to deliver it personally. Ripping open the envelope, Tiffany pulled out a sheet of paper and opened it, allowing the envelope to float to the floor. As she unfolded the paper, she started to read.

**_'For the attention of Miss Tiffany Valentine,_******

**_Further to instructions dictated in the last will and testament of Charles Lee Ray, it is our duty to inform you of various funeral arrangements. Mr Ray has stipulated we contact you with the time and date, and also stress that all arrangements have been prepared according to Mr Ray's wishes._******

**_The funeral is to take place at Forest Hills Cemetery, Hackensack, New Jersey at the time of 10:30am, Thursday November 17th 1988. As already explained, arrangements are in place according to Mr Ray's wishes._******

**_Owing to the nature of recent events surrounding our client, Mr Charles Lee Ray, may we take the opportunity to request that you do not reply to this letter and please refrain from any future correspondence._******

**_We would like to offer our sympathies on your loss._******

**_Newton, Brown &amp; Hammon Lawyers'_**

Feeling numb, Tiffany slid down the door as she fell, her legs bending and cracking at the knees as she allowed the shock to sink in. At least she had something.

She had a chance to say good bye.

November 17th 1988

Shattered, Tiffany took her seat on the plane, the day finally over as she fell into the economy seat she'd managed to blow the last of Keith Allen's ill gotten fortune on. The funeral had been a lot calmer than she'd expected. Nobody there but her, the priest and the undertaker as the hearse pulled into the parking lot, the flowers draped over the coffin bearing a freaky resemblance to the motif found adorning the walls of Chucky's apartment. Two serpents, each wrapped around a flag of some description, grand, beautifully arranged as they lay, one either side of the coffin, a star sitting along the bottom. As the rain lashed down and the wind tore through the cemetery, a crackle of thunder had been heard in the distance as the pallbearers retrieved the coffin and slowly began their march, the last walk for her man as she stood waiting to say her goodbyes, the wind whistling through the surrounding trees and slowly lifting her knee length, pinstripe dress, her stockings not providing nearly enough warmth as the cold began to make her shake, her teeth slightly chatter as the enormity of the situation had dawned on her. As she moved slightly to the side, to let the coffin through, her heels sunk into the wet grass, almost causing her to stumble as the undertaker put his hand out and caught her. Tiffany had nodded to him, glancing his name badge, the name 'Ted' emblazoned across the elegant panel, a thank you as she stood straight and tugged down her dress, her bag clutched in her hand as the coffin was placed atop the hole dug deep in the ground. One by one, the pallbearers turned and headed back to the hearse, stopping briefly to offer their condolences, a bow of the head, in some cases a touch of the shoulder and a reassuring smile. The service had been very short, Chucky not one for pomp and ceremony, definitely not for religion, so why a priest had been present, she had no idea whatsoever. But, credit to him, he kept it short, a brief run through of what Chucky had been like, how loved he had been by all around him, a very quick description of his life to date, albeit minus the kidnap and murdering. As the priest finished, he handed tiffany a box, the lid wide open, half filled with dirt, the soil from the ground. Reaching in, and fighting back the tears, Tiffany had grabbed a handful between her carefully manicured fingers and very slowly scattered it across the coffin, now sat six feet below her feet. As the priest wrapped things up, he offered the body back to the earth and closed his book of notes, beckoning to Tiffany that the service was now over as he gestured for her to walk with him from grave, Ted the undertaker wasting no time in getting to work as the rain picked up, hammering down as he grabbed his shovel and began to fill the grave in.

And that had been that. No sooner had it started than it had ended. Her cab arriving shortly after and taking her back to the hotel where she grabbed her case, before quickly heading back to the airport and boarding the flight she now found herself on. They had only been up in the air half an hour, Tiffany's efforts to get to sleep going completely unrewarded as she tossed and turned in her seat, the overweight business man in the seat beside her having no such trouble as his head flopped to face her, his slobbering mouth allowing a breath reminiscent of dog shit to sweep across her face, filling her nose with poison. As she gasped, she instinctively reached for the nearest thing with which she could fan away the fumes, finding herself grabbing the folded up news paper from the tray in front of the business man. As she waved frantically, she felt the air around her begin to clear as she looked at the news paper with delight. It was at this point that something jumped at her from the folded up front page. As fast as the news paper waved in front of her, no matter how blurred the headline became, one word jumped at her, hitting home like a nail through her skull. Slowly unfolding the tabloid, the front page filled her with a strange confusion. Dead centre of the front page sat a picture of a young boy cuddling his doll, a smile painted across his lips as he gripped the doll for dear life. This wasn't what had made Tiffany stop and examine the article though. No, that was nothing. What had made her stop and look had been the headline.

**BOY BLAMES DOLL: CLAIMS CHUCKY DID IT!**

As Tiffany skimmed the article quickly, she couldn't believe what she was reading as the name Charles Lee Ray appeared time and again, the young boy, Andy Barclay, claiming the doll was possessed by the spirit of Tiffany's dead lover and to blame for a series of murders in the Chicago area this last week. Not least of all, those of Eddie Kaputo and John Bishop. Her mind flashed back to John's words once more.

"The key to everlasting life is not something one can be taught. It requires faith of the highest order!"

His words lingered in her mind as Tiffany sat back and smiled. She didn't know how he'd done it...

But Chucky was alive...

Somehow.


	5. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

August 21st 1982

Dark...

Dirty...

A haze hanging in the crisp night air...

The echoes of the police sirens rang out across the litter strewn alleyway as squad car after squad car raced past the opening to the street and disappeared into the distance, blinks of blue and red still flashing along the crumbling brickwork, slowly dying until eventually fading into the night. As she turned to face forward, it suddenly dawned on Tiffany that this didn't seem the kind of neighbourhood to be taking a midnight stroll through. Not at this time of night at least. As she moved between the hulking buildings and picked up the pace, she found herself approaching a car, the bodywork severely rusted, the wheels stripped away, windows smashed to oblivion as she found herself stepping carefully through the broken glass, her heels offering next to no protection as the obligatory crunching underfoot eventually led to a shard of glass breaking free and bedding in the side of her foot. Leaning to one side, arm outstretched, propping herself against the wall to her right, she lifted her leg and took in the sight of blood beginning to stream from her foot, dripping through her fishnets and slowly, almost poetically, splattering as it struck the concrete beneath her. She knew she should have stuck to the open roads, the security of streetlights, the advice from the other girls at the diner perhaps better off ignored as they told her a way to cut twenty minutes from her journey home as the diner closed up for the night, Ron the owner laughing to himself as he hopped behind the wheel of his Chrysler and tore off into the distance. Four weeks she'd been working at the place, and call it female intuition, but she had the feeling her presence did not sit well with the other staff, constantly bitching about sharing tips between 'yet another person' and losing out on shifts. Don't get her wrong, but Tiffany understood where they were coming from, but she needed the money too. She'd been in the city less than six months and she was determined to prove her mother wrong. She could do it, she would stand on her own two feet, whether the bitches at work came to terms with that or not didn't matter. She had rent to make, just like them. As she allowed her mind to wander, she slowly lowered her foot to the concrete floor and felt the stinging sensation as she allowed her weight to rest on it.

Then...

Just a blur...

She felt something hard slam into her from behind, but she'd no idea who, or even what, it was. All she knew was that as she was thrown through the air she'd literally been able to pin point the moment the air was sucked from her lungs as she crashed into the ground, landing between two overflowing garbage cans, the rotten food and household waste covering her head to toe as she attempted valiantly to get her bearings, let her mind register what was happening. Lunging forward, her ribs screaming in compressed agony as she moved, her back began to burn. Her purse had fallen from her arm as she'd been sent spiralling to the ground, and now she saw it, resting a few feet from her as she knelt forward on her hands and knees, panic and anxiety taking over as she calmly reached for it. Flinging her arm forward, she just about grabbed the strap of the purse as a heavy, leather boot came crashing down, snapping her wrist to the floor as Tiffany cried out in pain, fear, confusion. Falling to her face, the boot never relenting, she managed to look up into the eyes of a man, not old, but his face contorting in delight as his wrinkled features examined her with great enthusiasm. The toothless smile, the cackle of manic laughter as the man reached into the back pocket of his stained, unwashed jeans and produced a knife, flicking the switch on the mother of pearl handle and allowing the moonlight to reflect along the edge of the freshly ejected blade. She'd never been in a situation like this before, and now, as panic set in firmly, she had no idea what to do. Should she bide her time? Make a run for it? Go along with whatever this disgusting example of a man demanded? What should she do? She took a deep breath and tried, struggled to stay calm as she gazed into his drug filled eyes once more, the dilated pupils moving over her young, tender body as she lay, prone and vulnerable. As she stared straight back into the eyes of frail looking, yet extremely unhinged man, she was startled to hear him speak, his thick British accent completely against what she had expected as the man spoke. He reminded her of Dick Van Dyke in Mary Poopins in a way. The accent rolling off his tongue, alien to Tiffany, but still riddled with a common, working class, bottom of the barrel tint.

"Now then sweet'eart." He hissed as he began to bend over, his face getting closer, close enough for Tiffany to smell the putrid breath as it filled her nose. "Little bit late for a walk, innit?"

"Please." Tiffany sobbed, the pain from her wrist beginning to register as the shock of the situation subsided. "I don't have any money, but you're welcome to take whatever you want... Just don't hurt me!"

The tears began flowing as she closed her eyes and attempted to bury her head in her arms. Looking quickly around, the sound of Tiffany's crying beginning to pick up volume, the man threw his head back, his greasy, thin hair whipping back over his scalp as he dropped to one knee and grabbed Tiffany's hair, lifting her head until she acknowledged his presence, the fear in her eyes satisfying him immensely.

"Now then..." The filthy assailant spat as he playfully tilted his face towards her. "Seen as you've no cash dear... We'll 'ave to see what else you've got."

Reaching down, Tiffany's wrist still gripped beneath his boot, the tramp grabbed Tiffany's blouse and ripped it open, her breast exposed as they threatened to spill from her bra, her panting, trembling beginning to arouse the man as he took in the sight before him. He was about to say something as he reached out, his dreams coming to life before his eyes as his hands shot out towards Tiffany's chest... But he never got that far. As he was in mid lunge, Tiffany suddenly saw the man leap backwards, somebody else stood behind him, as her attacker grasped at his throat, clawing away at his neck, scratch marks beginning to appear as the man cut at his throat with his long, broken and dirty finger nails. Whoever had happened upon their little scene had gotten a hold of him and wrapped something around his neck, pulling tighter still as the tramp fell to his knees, his eyes beginning to roll back in his head as his hands began to tire, the flailing limbs slowing immensely as Tiffany managed to get a good look at the two men wrestling in the shadows across the alleyway. Within a minute it was over, Tiffany's rescuer releasing his grasp on whatever weapon he had used to garrotte the tramp and allowing his body to fall face first into the concrete, glass from the smashed windows of the car breaking his fall as he let his last gasp of air fly from his body. Sitting back, rocking on her haunches, Tiffany looked along the floor and found the knife, dropped as the man was pulled off her, the cold hand of death caressing his neck with every second that passed. Now, as she held the knife out at arms length, Tiffany noticed her hands shaking, trembling with adrenaline as her saviour emerged from the shadows to greet her. His long black hair, the most beautiful smile she had ever laid eyes on, his long tweed jacket and scarf, Tiffany knew this man. He'd been coming in the diner ever since she started working there, not every night, but more often than not. A cup of coffee, followed by a Danish pastry to go. But she couldn't remember his name, no matter how hard she tried, it eluded her as he reached out to her and allowed his teeth to show through his smile.

"It's okay." He assured her as he grabbed her wrist. "He'll not bother you anymore. Trust me."

Tiffany thought about it for a few seconds before lowering the knife, still gripped in her fist as she stood to her feet. The gentleman stood before her moved to one side, allowing the convulsing figure of the tramp to enter her line of sight.

"You know..." He spoke as he gestured with a nod towards the man, "He doesn't have to die."

Tiffany pulled her blouse together, the buttons ripped from the garment as the filthy bastard had set his sights on raping her. Lifting her forearm to her face, she wiped away the tears and looked at the knife, before allowing her eyes to return to the tramp.

"I know what you're thinking..." Her hero spoke again. "He deserves it... Who'll know... You'd be doing the city a favour. I'm not gonna stop ya. I just want you to know what a big thing you'd be doing. Ending a life I mean."

He'd more or less finished his sentence as Tiffany barged past him, reaching the man in no time at all, the glass crunching under her feet once more as she dropped to her knees and without a second thought, not a tingle of remorse, plunged the blade of the knife into the man's heart, his body pausing from the sporadic movements as his eyes closed and his life drifted away, once and for all.

"He deserved it..." She stood and addressed the stranger. "Don't you fucking say he didn't!"

The man simply smiled and lifted his hands in a surrendering gesture.

"Why don't we start again..." He grinned. "I'm Charles. Although my friends tend to call me Chucky."

The name still didn't ring a bell with Tiffany as she answered him.

"Tiffany..." She replied.

"Well..." Chucky lowered his hands. "Am I okay to call you Tiff?"

She nodded as she looked down at the corpse beside her feet, shock beginning to grip her like a vice.

"Well Tiff..." Chucky spoke again. "Let's clean you up, and get a coffee inside you. What d'ya say huh?"

And with that, he removed his overcoat and wrapped it around her as they began to walk, the cold feeling, the realisation of what she had just done washing over her and making her sick to the pit of her stomach as she heard Chucky speak, his words muffled by the millions of thoughts racing around her head.

"This could be the start of something good..."

Slowly, as they walked, Tiffany began to fade back to the present...

Back to a more recent nightmare...

September 18th 1990

Now, as she stood in the hallway of her shared apartment, she felt good, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, the drug she had become so accustomed to beginning to take effect, such a euphoric feeling as she gave a small giggle and felt her back tingle. The warm feeling slowly began to register across her thumb, slowly making its way across the back of her hand and down her wrist as the sound dragged Tiffany from her trance-like state. That same noise she had heard all those years ago as she examined her foot. The splatter of blood as it slammed into the floor, slowly at first, consistency growing with every drop as Tiffany opened her eyes and stared dead ahead. The eyes of her roommate Evan bored into her skull as the colour literally fell from his face, shock etched into every pore of his body as his mouth slightly grimaced. Looking down to find Evan pressed against the wall of the entry to the apartment, Tiffany found her hand grasping the knife, the length of the blade plunged viciously into Evan's stomach as blood began to flow, almost erupt from the wound as Tiffany suddenly withdrew the knife and allowed Evan to flop to the floor, torrents of blood streaming from the open wound and spreading, forming a maroon pool around his unmoving body. Taking a step back, followed by another, Tiffany suddenly felt the cold touch of the wall behind her as she visibly jumped, her mind startled instantly, dragged from the deepest reaches of her soul. She took in the sight again, Evan laying peacefully as the lake of blood refused to let up, the tacky fluid spreading quickly over the wooden floor, staining at the smallest touch. Slowly, carefully, sinking to her knees and dropping the knife, Tiffany allowed her mind to wander a little more, casting it back over the last few days as she finally made progress, the events that followed, seeming to unfold at an alarming rate as the dominoes of her obsession began to fall, one after another...


	6. Chapter 2-1

Chapter 2.1

September 15th 1990

Reaching forward, her arms gripping the hot faucet of the bath tub, Tiffany gripped the handle and twisted calmly, the sound of water gushing from the tap and cascading into the grimy, almost white bath stopping instantly as she released the handle and retreated to the other end of the tub, her back feeling the freezing cold of the porcelain, the contrast between that and the piping hot water making her both shiver and smile at once. The bubbles covering her body were cool against her soft skin as she felt the water beneath begin to open every pore on her body, infiltrating her skin and cleansing every inch. As she leaned her head back, her hair held aloft, away from the water by the black ribbon she had just seconds ago secured around her blonde, shoulder length hair, she closed her eyes and slid further down, allowing the water to creep up to her neck as she took a deep breath and opened her eyes once more. The steam, rapidly rising from the water, began to spiral into the air, dancing a ballet of enchanting beauty as her eyes followed it carefully up to the top of the room, whereupon it spread like smoky butter across the crudely plastered bathroom ceiling, drifting to the four corners of the room and beginning the dance all over again. This was without a doubt her favourite part of the day, no mistake. Her only grumble was that there was no television set in here, but she couldn't argue with that. The amount of stories she'd heard over the years regarding electrical goods falling into bath tubs was enough to make the skin crawl, after all, one slip and that was it. She closed her eyes again and let her head roll, up, down and side to side as the heat of the water began to make her feel sleepy, the noise from the living room being the only thing to keep her awake as she could hear Evan, her roommate of the last nine months, hollering at the NFL game. She'd dropped on with Evan, no doubt about that. Answering an ad in the local paper, Tiffany had been pleasantly surprised to find he wasn't a bleary eyed drug addict, but in fact he was a student at the university down the road. Mommy and daddy were apparently willing to bank roll his dreams of becoming a film maker and funded his expensive little lifestyle. The apartment though was different. They weren't willing to bank roll him to such extremes, which had led to Evan taking a part-time job mopping floors down at the local K-Mart, and eventually placing an ad for a roommate in the local paper. His eyes had more or less fallen out of his skull as he answered the door to Tiffany, the playful smile and seductive way she fluttered her eyelashes paying off no end as she found herself offered the room right there and then, Evan deciding to waiver the first two weeks and telling her to just pay him whenever she could. Things had changed a little recently though, and she could sense it now more than ever. She was late with her rent, as she was every fortnight, and it was beginning to get old. She'd considered offering herself up to him on a plate at one point, a kind of 'services rendered' way of settling the debt, but she just couldn't do it. She was an evil bitch, no mistake, but she could never sell herself off for something as lowly as rent. She wouldn't be able to look herself in the eye, and that afternoon that Danny McBride had forcibly taken her against her will had more or less spelt the end of such activity for her, the skin up and down her body still feeling dirty after all this time. Tiffany had the feeling that no amount of baths would ever get rid of that feeling, the disgust at being violated, it couldn't be wiped away with a bar of soap and a moist sponge. It had etched itself on her very being and refused to let go, no matter what revenge she had extracted soon after. Half asleep, she found herself awoken from her thoughts as the phone began to ring down the hall, reverberating through every room in the apartment as she heard Evan begin to moan as he closed the living room door and grabbed the receiver from the wall.

"Hello!" Evan sternly grunted into the receiver as he answered.

Tiffany playfully scooped up a hand full of bubbles and brought them to her face, her palm held flat in front of her as she pursed her lips together and quickly blew, the snowy ballet of scented bubbles rapidly flying in each and every direction as they floated gently through the bathroom and scattered to the floor. She pricked her ears again as Evan continued his conversation.

"Maybe she is, maybe she isn't. Who wants to know?" Evan's tone carried an air of stubbornness.

Tiffany sat up, concern creeping over her as the phone call began to get interesting, the water sloshing around her waistline, the bubbles sliding gracefully across her naked chest and dripping slowly into the searing water beneath as it began to level out and calm.

"Okay, okay." Evan backed down. "Give me a minute."

As his voice grew louder, Tiffany heard footsteps. Slow, gentle, almost as though Evan was trying to move undetected as Tiffany spun her head, his silhouette catching her eyes as it appeared on the other side of the frosted glass of the bathroom door. As the door burst open she panicked and allowed her body to slide instantly beneath the water again, rushing over every inch and soaking her from the tips of her toes to the last hair sat upon her head.

"Tiffany!" Evan raised his voice as the water spilled over the side of the bath, the waves from her sudden movement making a mess of the wooden floor. "Phone call!"

Pushing herself back up and raising her head until her chin sat on the surface of the water, Tiffany released her fingers from pinching her nostrils together and turned to look at Evan, stood with his hands on his hips and a pissed off look as he examined the state of the floor.

"God damn, you stupid bitch!" He spat as she shook her head slightly, the water running down her face. "You'd better clean this fucking room up."

Tiffany sat up a little further and took in the sight of the water, pooled around the bath tub.

"Holy fuck, I'm so sorry." She replied. "You caught me by surprise, I didn't know what to do."

"For fucks sake. This floor better not leak through to downstairs!" Evan answered as he turned his attention towards her.

"I'll clean it up sweetface." She smiled kindly. "I promise. Who's on the phone?"

"Some guy. Won't tell me his name, just asked for you. Sounds like some old perve to me though. Just see that you clean this bathroom up when you're done!" He turned to leave, grabbing the handle of the bathroom door as he left, turning suddenly as Tiffany reached over the side of the bath and grabbed the towel from the floor.

"Hey, Tiff!" He grinned as he caught her leaning over, her breasts slightly exposed. She looked up, shocked at the drooling, delirious state he had entered as he allowed his eyes to crawl across her upper torso, the bubbles clinging to her breasts, gleaming under the presence of the bath water.

"What?" She snapped as she suddenly raised the towel, shielding herself from his perverted gaze.

"Thanks for the image." He laughed. "I'll take that to bed with me tonight!"

And with that Evam slammed the bathroom door shut and made his way back to the living room, the NFL filling the apartment once more as he un-muted the television and returned to the game. She only took a second to quickly dry herself off, wrapping the black, semi dry, towel around her body as she emerged from the bathroom and found the phone laying on its side, the mystery caller awaiting her on the other end. Gripping the receiver, her other hand holding the towel secure against her torso, she lifted it to her ear and spoke.

"This is Tiffany..." She spoke, her distinctive voice carried down the line.

"This is you-know-who..." The male voice said, as it filtered through the ear piece and instantly struck home.

"Well it's about time." Tiffany relaxed as she allowed a smile to form on her lips.

"These things take time Miss Valentine." He answered, the noise in the background indicating a public call box, the crackle on the line making it hard for her to hear.

"So you have it?" She asked.

"When can we meet?" Her caller whispered, the previous question seemingly ignored.

"Whenever," Tiffany replied. "I'm free whenever you are. Do you have it?"

"One hour." He snapped back. "The underpass of the freeway, near the 7/11. I'll be waiting, and Miss Valentine..."

"Yes?" Her response filled with anticipation.

"Come alone... Am I understood?"

"Of course." Tiffany rolled her eyes, she had just as much intention of keeping this little arrangement under wraps as her gentleman caller did.

"One hour then..." He whispered once more.

And with that the line went dead, the click highly audible as Tiffany's acquaintance replaced the phone and ended the conversation. He hadn't given her much hope, but at least he'd given her something. Why else would he want to meet? So suddenly and out of the blue too. Placing the phone back in the cradle, Tiffany spun on the spot and sprinted back to her room, her wet feet sliding, struggling for traction as she raced across the lacquered, wooden floor of the apartment and towards her only place of privacy. One hour wasn't long. Not long at all.

Leaving the solitude of her cluttered bedroom behind her, Tiffany turned and yanked the door closed, inserting the key and twisting it clockwise, hearing the lock snap in the chamber with a secure 'click' she had come to appreciate since sharing with somebody else. Lifting her purse slightly, sliding open the zipper, she slipped the key inside and began to make her way down the hall and to the front door of the apartment, stopping to touch up her now dry hair in the mirror and make sure she looked every inch as good as she felt. Her Iron Maiden t-shirt, clinging tightly to her upper body gave her a curvy, yet slim and attractive look, while her short skirt and black stockings lent a sexy air to her presence, the knee length, black leather boots finishing off the image and adding a touch of 'don't fuck with me' to whoever lurked the Chicago shadows on her little venture out. After spending a couple of minutes playing with her hair, she turned and grabbed her jacket from the coat stand, the faux-fur lining of the black leather feeling sensual against her bare skin as her arms slipped gently through the sleeves. She had just about reached the door, heading past the living room, when suddenly Evan appeared, his face flat, no emotion, just a blank stare. Tiffany stopped dead in her tracks as Evan simply stood and gazed at her, not moving an inch as he stood, arms folded across his chest. Slightly perplexed, Tiffany realised she had no time for games and turned sideways, about to squeeze between Evan and the hallway wall. As she turned and approached him, he moved quickly, pivoting ninety degree and facing her full on, pressing her against the wall and slamming both hands against the damp plaster, one either side of her head as Tiffany stopped and stared at him as he leaned in, a smile slowly forming.

"Two weeks rent you owe me Tiff." He sneered as he loomed closer. "That's a lot of money to a girl like you I guess."

"Not that much." Tiffany quickly answered. "You'd be amazed the ways a 'girl like me' could get her hands on some money Evan."

"I bet I would." His nose was more or less touching hers as he looked her over, his hand moving from the wall and running through her hair. "But why go to all that trouble when the answer's right here, staring us in the face."

Tiffany smiled and narrowed her eyes, the excitement written across Evan's face plainly obvious.

"Oh it wouldn't be any trouble." She replied with a touch of laughter, playing with his mind.

Without warning, she brought her hands up and placed them on his chest, her head leaning in as she slowly craned her neck forward, her lips to his as she lifted the sole of one of her boots and pressed it against the wall, giving her a touch of leverage, something she'd need to move a man with the physique Evan possessed. Pushing gently, she found him easier than she'd first imagined as she remained close, pushing him into the opposite wall, his arms slowly falling to his sides, he seemed to be liking this. As he felt the wall, cold and firm, up against his back, he lowered his eyes and stared directly into her soul, her beautiful eyes dancing, a flicker of sexual torment dwelling deep within. He was amazed to find one of her hands had now left his chest and disappeared below. Closing his eyes and awaiting the heaven he had envisioned since the day she had first turned up enquiring about the room, Evan was awoken from his tranquil state of expectation as a thud sent a tremor through the wall. Opening his eyes, he found Tiffany take a small step back, her hand still remaining at groin level as Evan looked down, the nausea washing over him all at once as the handle of the knife became visible. Stuck in the plaster of the wall, approximately one inch from the location Evans' brains had chosen to reside, the knife sent a shiver down his spine, the impending evacuation of Evans' bladder unstoppable as a dark path began to appear in the sky blue denim of his jeans. Lips trembling in terror, he looked up as Tiffany smiled, grasping the handle and removing the blade from between his legs in one fluid motion.

"It wouldn't be any trouble at all." She grinned as she played with the knife, tossing it from one hand to another as Evan spun on his heels and raced from the scene, his bedroom door slamming shut behind him as the key swung violently in the lock.

She could've done worse. Jesus, she could've done a lot worse, wouldn't be the first time. The long lost body of Keith Allen was a testament to that. But now, as she slipped the blade back between the zippers of her purse, she found herself walking with a much sought after spring in her step as she left the apartment and headed down the steps outside and onwards.

Her mystery man was waiting.

The underpass was quiet, which was a surprise. During storms like this one, that had suddenly appeared cross the skyline of the Illinois evening, you'd usually find the homeless people, vagrants, turning up in their numbers for a dry patch out of the way, the concrete flyovers offering them that very respite from the misery they called life. As she skipped between the pillars, the neon lights of the 7/11 only just visible in the distance of the concrete jungle, Tiffany suddenly realised why the area was vastly under populated considering the weather loudly going about its own business overhead. There, fifty feet away, no lights or engine running as the odd torrent of rainwater flowed over above ledges and trickled to the dusty floor, sat a Chicago P.D police car. The one occupant, patiently awaiting the meeting he had been in such a rush to arrange just one hour previous. As she took a step back and hid behind one of the many cement pillars supporting the roads above, Tiffany took a deep breath and exhaled. She had known this day would come for a while now, and she was ready. She could only hope that her acquaintance had with him the item that she had long sought for.

Stepping out from behind her cover, Tiffany approached the car, the heels of her boots quietly striking the firm concrete beneath as she closed in...

Leaning forward from the comfy seat behind the wheel of the squad car, Officer Harry Marsh grabbed the power button of the radio and jerked it counter-clockwise, the police band suddenly disappearing and allowing the silence to embrace him as he sat patiently in his seat, the river of rainwater sweeping across Madison Street in the distance making him feeling warmer than he had felt all night. At fifty eight years old, and with more than a 'little' too much weight hanging over the top of his belt, he'd been fit for retiring for a couple of years now, and as he sat and tapped the bottom of his lighter on the steering wheel before him, he stroked his chin and imagined the possibilities. Truth be told, he felt uneasy about this whole venture, never expected anything to come of it, but he'd seen it out until now and as fate had granted him such an opportunity to come good, he now hoped the good deed would be returned, and that his 'client' would be equally as trustworthy when it came to upholding her end of the bargain. Ten months almost. Ten months since that first and only meeting between the two of them, fate once again intervening and offering Harry the ultimate chance, something he was willing to cling to and never let go as he did something he had sworn he would never do, accepting a bribe. Thinking of it like that made Harry feel dirty, dishonest, but as he remembered back to that night, the precincts Christmas party, everything became a whole lot clearer and the long term goal became the focus of everything transpiring right now before his very eyes...

December 23rd 1989

It was nothing special...

Matter of fact he didn't want to go...

After the year they'd had, it was the last thing on his mind, going into the city and pounding some beers with guys half his age. But it was a case of anything for a quiet life as his wife of thirty six years lay in the hospital, intravenous fluids working their way into her body and attempting to fight off the deadly battle. The cancer had taken its toll on Marie, the news knocking weight off her from the word 'go', the medication leaving her tired, the chemotherapy gradually causing her hair to leave her head, her beautiful smile no longer flanked on either side by the flowing brunette locks as she laughed and joked. Nowadays the laughter had dried up, hospital appointment after hospital appointment seeming to sneak up on them, hurling them into yet another dark tunnel of torment as news repeatedly came back, the fight draining from Marie's very soul as the words seemed to slip in slow motion from the doctor's lips. The cancer was winning. Every step of the way, winning. The chemotherapy would help, prolong her life, but in the end that was all they could hope for. That wasn't living, not to Harry, and although he'd never dream of saying it to his wife, as she lay night after night, silently by his side, it was simply an existence. An existence, afforded to her thanks to the generous medical insurance Harry had paid into for the last three decades as he rose slowly through the ranks of the Chicago Police Department. Not rose as such, but more or less, levitated slightly around the bottom rungs of the ladder. But the insurance wouldn't stretch to everything. At first, Harry had been elated as the doctors began to speak of a new treatment, not widely available, in fact still in the trial stages under a molecular biologist in Northern California. Vascular endothelial growth factor, or VEGF as the professionals called it, was being heralded as the future of cancer treatment. A protein that stimulated blood vessel development, scientists had discovered a way to clone the gene and could hopefully find a way to block the activity of this angiogenesis factor, potentially inhibiting the growth of tumour blood vessels. The joy had been short-lived however, the insurance company refusing to stump up the money for any such treatment, investigating Marie's case and the money it would cost, coming to the conclusion it would very much be an unviable option. There was the chance of having Marie's cancer examined in depth by a group of professionals carrying out these trials, but the cost was something Harry could never cover. The bank refused him a loan, pointing to his age and income as they politely shoved him and his dying wife out the door. This was how it had all come down to this. A stolen chance, a twist of fate as he had been forced to endure the blizzard from hell on the Christmas night out with precinct 38. As the beers flowed, Harry found the taste began to grow on him, Marie and her condition started to take a back seat for a change as he and a few of the older members of the force huddled around a table in Hammond's Bar and played poker, the younger officers more or less taking over the pool tables on offer over the other side of the establishment. It was only as the shots began to land in front of him that his tongue became looser and looser. Nobody spared as Harry ripped into almost every one of them, laying bare his misery as he reminded each and every one of them that they knew nothing of pain. Nothing like he did.

"What the hell..." Harry paused to hiccup. "What the hell do you think you're talking about Lewis?"

"Look Harry..." Lewis held his hands up, his face calm and his tone forgiving. "I didn't mean to start no competition. Me and you must've known each other longer than i care to remember."

"So what's all this pity bullshit?" Harry slurred. "You expect us to feel sorry for ya? Just cause your kid ain't gonna give ya no grandkids?"

"Look," Lewis's tone became sterner. "Harry. We're all sorry about Marie. Sure we are. We wish we could do something. But other people have rights to moan about shit too!"

"Don't give me that ol' shit." Harry sat back and laid his cards face down across the table. "You wanna do what I gotta do every night. Kiss your wife g'night and tell her it'll all be okay. Even though it won't. You have any idea what that's like?"

By now, Harry's voice had become louder, the attention from the bar staff proving impossible to shrug off as they turned one after another and looked over at the group of men sat around the table.

"Look Harry, keep it down." Kowalski intervened from beside Lewis. "We feel for ya. Sure we do. But life goes on. I'm sorry man, but it does."

With that, Harry became enraged. Standing immediately and pushing his chair out from behind him, the screeching echoing throughout the bar and causing one or two patrons to cover their ears and grit their teeth as Harry finally stood upright, his belly hitting the table and causing it to rock slightly as bottle and glasses fell each and every way imaginable, smashing as they made contact with the filthy, linoleum floor.

"You take that back..." Harry swayed a little more. "You... You... Bastard!"

With that, Kowalski stood and leaned across the table, his silver crew cut and chiselled jaw making him an intimidating sight.

"I didn't mean nothing by it Harry." He calmly spoke as one of the bar girls raced over, dust pan and brush clenched between her fists. Her short blonde hair, her incredibly sexy figure, the legs that seemed to go all the way up, everything about her gained the attention of the men gathered around the table as she began to sweep up the broken glass. Taking his eyes from the girl, now knelt beside him, Kowalski held his hand out and grabbed Harry by the shoulder, stopping him from rocking. "You're a damn good cop Harry. A hell of a guy too. How long you been on the force now? Longer than any of us. You're one of the cleanest, most professional cops there is in this city. Don't ruin that. Don't burn bridges that someday you're gonna need. We're all sorry about Marie, and we wish we could help you afford that treatment. But we can't. All we can do is be there for you along the way. Now go to the bar and get the drinks in."

With that, the atmosphere was suddenly lifted again as Harry smiled and grabbed Kowalski's hand, patting it and turning on the spot to make his way to the bar. As he turned, he noticed the bar girl with the dust pan full of broken glass. Still kneeling, her sweeping motion interrupted as she took interest in the conversation, she suddenly noticed Harry looking at her and felt sheepish, returning to her job and clearing the floor of shattered glass.

"While you're down there honey." Harry grinned to her as the rest of his colleagues burst out laughing.

Embarrassed, and turning red on the spot, the bar girl slowly stood and began to walk back to the bar. Each and every officer allowing their eyes to follow her ass as it swayed seductively from side to side.

"Suppose I'd better follow on." Harry mumbled as he took a deep breath and began to move off towards the bar. "Same again boys?"

The chorus of agreement was lost amongst the ambience of the bar as Harry approached one of the other bar girls and placed his order, fumbling in his pockets for his money, finding it and slamming it down on the wet beer mat in front of him.

"You take them over sweetheart. I've gotta pay a visit to the little boy's room." Harry smiled and left the bar, the flickering neon light above the restroom seeming to entice him over, hypnotise him as he kept it in his field of vision, never once noticing the blonde bar girl with the dust pan and brush following him.

Once inside, Harry felt relief as he stood before the urinal, the warm stream of urine slightly splashing back off the porcelain as he felt his bladder begin to empty, the door behind him slamming as somebody else entered the restroom. As his stream slowed to a mere trickle, Harry gave himself a shake and zipped himself back up, spinning in the direction of the sinks and noticing his guest. In front of him stood the girl from the bar, the dust pan full of broken glass in one hand, the brush in another.

"Jesus love." Harry laughed. "I was only joking out there. See I got my wife, and I don't think she'd be too happy about me being in here with you."

She stood in silence for a couple of seconds before throwing the pan and brush on the side, the glass flying along the counter and filling one of the sinks.

"Is that your wife that's ill?" She asked as she turned back to Harry.

"Well, not that it's any of your business." Harry started. "But yeah..."

"What's wrong with her?" The girl asked, interrupting suddenly.

"Cancer." Harry's reply brought a tear to his eye as he uttered the word. One simple, six letter word that could bring upon a man, more suffering than any kind of torture.

"And you can't afford treatment?" The girl asked once more, her eyes growing bigger as she took a step towards Harry, who could only shake his head as he lowered his eyes to the dirty, tiled, floor.

"But you're a cop right?" The girl sent another question Harry's way, causing him to look up, confusion taking over his mind.

"That I am." He replied. "What difference does that make?"

"Oh it makes a difference," The girl took another step. "Harry, is it?"

Harry nodded.

"Well Harry." Her smile grew as she came to a stop in front of him. "Maybe we can help each other, you and me."

"I'm not sure I like where this is going miss..."

"Tiffany." She replied as she stood up straight and saluted him in a joking manner.

"Well Tiffany." He seemed to relax a touch at this. "I'm struggling to get what you mean. But it still sounds like something to be worried about."

"Don't worry Harry." She laughed. "I'm not gonna suck you off in a cubicle then bribe you over it."

"Well that's a relief." Harry gasped.

"No, what I had in mind was something much more beneficial for the both of us." Tiffany whispered as she leaned in and began to lay out her grand plan.

It had been enough to enrage Harry at first. Storm from the restroom, his ears refusing to believe what they had heard. She couldn't be serious. Never in a million years. Sure, she knew about the killer doll murders from just over a year ago, but who didn't? They'd been all over the news, across every front page. Hell, it'd be harder to find somebody that DIDN'T know about those events. But the way she spoke, the proposition, something unsettled Harry, especially as his wife had been dragged into it. Her proposition was still ringing in his ears as he returned to his chair around the table and Lewis began to deal the cards out once more. Jokes rattling back and forth about the amount of time Harry had taken, how he was getting old and needed longer time to piss these days. Everything sailing straight over his head as his mind raced, turning back to the bar and seeing Tiffany take up her position, serving drinks and occasionally glancing over, the look on her face one of pure fear as Harry's exit shocked her. Strangely enough though, the ore he sat and thought, the more her idea hit home. It resonated on a level Harry thought profound at the time, but now, as he sat among his friends, his colleagues, he knew this could be the only option.

At the end of the night, Harry had approached Tiffany once more, frightening her half to death as she cleared glasses from a table at the other side of the room, turning to find Harry's frame obscuring the light behind him and casting Tiffany in darkness, invisible to everybody else in the bar.

"I've been thinking." He sighed as he held his jacket in his fist.

"And?" Tiffany answered, taking a quick look around.

"I'm still not sure." Harry answered. "All these years and I never did anything that wasn't by the book."

"As I've said." Tiffany leaned back, sitting on the table and crossing her legs. "I'd make it worth your while."

"How much?" Harry quickly replied, his turn to take a look around, his friends leaving the bar behind him in the distance.

"How much would it take? The treatment I mean." She asked.

"No offence Tiffany." Harry laughed. "But you don't look like you have that kinda money."

"You'd be surprised about a lot of things." Tiffany smiled as she leaned forward, placing her hands on her knee. "Name your price."

"Fifty." Harry instantly shot back, the seriousness in his voice causing Tiffany to laugh for a second before realising how serious Harry was.

"Grand?" She blurted out, covering her mouth. "Fifty grand? Fuck me!"

"I knew this was a waste of time. Don't worry about it kid. It didn't feel right with me anyway." Harry turned and started to walk away, suddenly feeling Tiffany's soft hand on his shoulder, causing him to turn back around.

"I can get it." Tiffany whispered as she looked into his eyes, determination written in her soul.

"Sure you can." Harry tried to turn away once more, Tiffany pulling him back.

"I can!" She replied sternly, Harry taken aback slightly.

"And all you want is..."

"That's all I want." She quickly stopped him. "One tiny little bit of evidence, that they'll probably never miss anyway."

And with that the deal was done, Tiffany slipping her name and number into Harry's jacket pocket and telling him to call when he had news.

September 15th 1990

Now, almost ten months later, here he was. He had seriously doubted that tonights phone call would lead to anything other than a wrong number, so he'd been surprised when that high pitched voice had come bouncing down the line. All he could do now was sit and wait. In fact waiting was all he had done for the last twenty minutes, so imagine his surprise as Tiffany brought her arm crashing down on the driver's door of the squad car, causing Harry to drop his cigarette in his lap, the shock startling him as Tiffany began to laugh manically outside.

"Jesus Christ!" Harry screamed as he fished the cigarette from between his legs and wound the window down, tossing the now extinguished tab end outside. "Round the other side, quick."

As he calmed down, he found his eyes following Tiffany's waist as she trotted around the front of the car, her perky breasts bouncing under the jacket as she ran, reaching the passenger door at a canter and yanking it open, pulling it closed behind her and allowing silence to reign.

"The hell was that about?" Harry turned to Tiffany, pissed off.

"Just trying to lighten the mood. You were miles away sweetface." She replied with a giggle.

"Damn straight I was miles away." Harry snapped back as he pulled another cigarette from the packet and pulled the lighter to the tip, striking the flint with his thumb and cupping his hands around the flame, taking a deep breath as he sucked the acrid smoke into his lungs before exhaling, the second hand smoke filling the car. "Matter of fact, I was wondering how the fuck I got sucked into this whole thing."

"You know it's worth it." Tiffany turned serious suddenly. "Your wife. How is she?"

"She'd be a lot better if we could afford this treatment." Harry snapped. "Is there no way I can have my money now?"

Tiffany shook her head.

"Afraid not sweetface." She smirked as she leaned her head in her hands. "Got to protect my investment. Can't have you racing off and spending MY money before you deliver me the goods."

"Yeah I thought as much." Harry's eyes flitted from side to side as he took another drag and tapped his lighter on the steering wheel once more.

"Speaking of which, do you have it?" Tiffany asked, craning her head around to look in the back of the car.

It was Harry's turn to shake his head, cigarette clenched between his lips as he did so, his lips parting slightly as he began to talk.

"Not yet. They're still holding it in evidence." Harry answered. "But it shouldn't be long. Rumour has it that the judge sent that Barclay woman for some psychiatric evaluation. From what I've heard, she's most probably halfway to the nut house as we speak. The kid's in care, has been more or less since day one, especially since Norris and Santos pulled their statements."

"Well that's good." Tiffany sighed as she thought things through.

"Dunno about that." Harry smiled as he pulled the cigarette from his lips. "Play Pals are 'very' interested in that thing too. From what I can make out, they're going to grease a few palms if necessary and run their own tests on that thing. Probably to calm down a few freaked out stockholders. If that's the case, then I might not be able to get you what you're after."

"Excuse me?" Tiffany became agitated as she spun in her seat and focused her complete attention on Officer Harry Marsh.

"What can I do?" He held his hands up. "If I can't get it, I can't get it!"

"Then you had better fucking well get it Officer Marsh, do you understand me?" Tiffany spat.

"Look," Harry began. "I'm not saying I can't. But at the same time, you understand my predicament. That's why I'm gonna help you out in other ways too."

"How do you mean?" Tiffany sank back into her seat.

"Well I know how interested in this case you are so I did a little digging. Figured it may be enough to earn me a little early money towards my wife's treatment. I can see that's not gonna happen, but what the hell. I'll help you anyway."

"Carry on." Tiffany rolled her eyes, bored.

"It's the kid." Harry said.

"What kid?"

"THE kid. Andy Barclay..." Harry smiled. "I 'know' he's at Midtown Childrens Crisis Centre under the watchful eye of Miss Grace Pool. I also happen to 'know' they're looking for a secretary to cover maternity leave."

"I don't get what this has to do with me." Tiffany began to seem irritated.

"I figured it couldn't hurt. You know?" Harry handed her a folded piece of paper, the details written within. "Maybe he could shed some more light on this thing for ya."

"I see." Tiffany suddenly looked enlightened, as if a light bulb had flickered into life above her head.

As she sat and thought, Harry reached forward and turned the knob on the radio, the police band screeching into life, dragging Tiffany from her dazed state as she hurriedly placed the folded piece of paper in her purse and opened the car door. She was sat with one leg in, one leg out, just about to stand, when Harry placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Miss Valentine." He looked sternly into her eyes. "The next time we meet. Please have my money. I beg you."

"Officer Marsh." Tiffany smiled, her eyes flickering in the light of a passing car, somewhere in the distance. "The next time we meet. I hope to fucking god, you have that doll. That's not a request. That's a fucking order!"

Harry sat stunned as Tiffany stood elegantly from the squad car and slammed the door closed, disappearing into the concrete supports and off into the night as Harry sat in the car, the dispatcher going crazy, requesting cars to a pursuit across town.

'Harry' He thought to himself. 'What the fuck have you gotten yourself into?'


	7. Chapter 2-2

Chapter 2.2

September 17th 1990

After pulling out every drawer and throwing open the small wardrobe within her humble room, Tiffany was at a loss. Spending the previous day turning the piece of paper Officer Marsh had given her over in her hands for hours, the phone number for Midtown Childrens Crisis centre leaping at her along with the name of a Miss Grace Pool, she had finally thrown together a false identity, consisting of a name and background. Not air tight, but enough to cover over the cracks in her fractured police record, and in particularly the constant mentions of her name in almost every article relating to Chucky. Now came the daunting task of making herself 'employable' in the eyes of some uptight old bitch across town, that would no doubt look down on her in the same manner as everybody else, the narrowed eyes and look of disapproval saying more than words ever could. The secretary had seemed nice enough as she took Tiffany's name, or to be precise, Tiffany's new name. She had to giggle as the electricity of deceit crackled through her veins, her new identity open and waiting to be filled with whichever stories and qualifications she wished. The name hadn't been too hard, she had considered something simple, that nobody would suspect, whilst all the time flashing it in their faces. Charlene Ray had been up there, but in the end Tiffany played it safe and decided not to risk the wrath of the authorities any more than she had to, opting for the name of Officer Marsh's long suffering wife Marie. Sure enough, she had an interview arranged for the next day, and as things stood, that interview was to take place in exactly two hours as Tiffany panicked, clothes littering the bedroom floor and almost every single piece of furniture as she desperately sought an outfit that would help her inside the centre and allow her to snoop around, hunting out the little shit that had caused all this outrage, Andy Barclay. She wasn't going to do anything to him, she could never be that callus, but she did want answers. What had Chucky told him? What had Chucky done? Was there something she didn't know? Everything that had happened, right after she last paid a visit to John Bishop, had no doubt made her doubt her own sanity. But the stories, the details, something had to be there for all this to have exploded in such a way. After all, why on earth would a six year old boy have fabricated such lies? The truth, streaked through the stories that people seemed to shake their heads at, known only to close personal friends of the antagonist repeatedly mentioned as the chain of events were discussed time and again. True, a lot of fingers had ended up pointed at the mother, Karen Barclay, as the police, and the general public refused to believe the manic claims from mother and son. Many assuming her to crack up, the pressure of work, running the extremely upmarket apartment on such small wages the department store had to offer, all thrown into the mix with the grieving widow routine, eventually creating a powder keg of emotion as she finally broke, taking her son with her as the incredible, insane stories of a killer doll began to take Chicago, even the country, by storm. No matter what though, Tiffany had set her sights on her next target, and was determined to find out more as she finally ended two years of sitting on her ass and waiting for god knows what. As she continued to pull out drawer after drawer, throwing the many tops, jeans, skirts, dresses over her shoulder, she finally stopped as her face lit up. Pulling the pinstripe skirt from her drawer, she turned and clutched at the crisp white blouse thrown, moments ago, across her bed the creases from the time spent abandoned displayed prominently as she held them up and allowed them to catch the light. Clean, but in need of pressing, no doubt about that, as she spun on her feet and headed to the hall, yanking open the door to the cupboard besides the bathroom. Grabbing the iron, she headed back to her room and closed the door, sliding the lock into the latch automatically as she dropped once more to her knees and plugged the iron into the outlet, waiting patiently for the metal plate to warm through before running it across the skirt and blouse, now laid out as straight as possible across the floor. Within a matter of minutes she had finished, the dress looking splendid as she held it up, reaching into her wardrobe and retrieving a hanger, carefully placing it inside the blouse and hanging it back in the wardrobe as she slipped off her robe and pulled on the skirt. The soft fabric gliding effortlessly over her smooth legs and hugging her waist as she sat at the hideously old fashioned dresser and began to apply her makeup.

No mistake, she would look like the model employee.

Sitting in the waiting room, Tiffany found herself surrounded by parents, or maybe the more accurate term would be 'potential' parents, as each couple chatted with one another regarding the status of their foster/adoption application, one man in particular asking Tiffany how her experience had been with the system. To say she had been taken by surprise would be an understatement as she found herself explaining that she was simply there for a job and had no interest in kids whatsoever. Nobody really bothered her after that, which suited her down to the ground as she found the nauseating, sickeningly nice atmosphere a little too much to stomach, relief evident in her face as the secretary entered the waiting room, clipboard in hand, each couple looking her way in optimism as she spoke.

"Marie Marsh?" Her voice was gentle, although Tiffany expected nothing less. Her hair swept back in a ponytail, pushing her round glasses back up to the bridge of her nose as she looked up and across the waiting room, Tiffany figured she could only weigh about 120 pounds, maybe a little more, but not much.

"Here." Tiffany found herself clutching her bag with one hand, the other slowly raised as she stood, straightening her skirt before grabbing her coat from the back of the chair and following the secretary through the door and across reception. She closed the waiting room door behind her and turned, catching a glimpse of the obviously judgmental secretary examining every inch of her body, her high, yet sensible heels, her bare legs the freshly pressed skirt, the clean blouse.

"Why not take a picture?" Tiffany muttered to herself as she followed, the secretary turning, clipboard gripped firmly to her chest.

"I'm sorry?" She asked.

"What a lovely picture." Tiffany gushed, smiling broadly as she gestured to the large, school class type photo hanging on the wall. Kids from one end to another, in multiple rows, flanked by the various carers and social workers that had been given the task of looking after them. The secretary turned her head and carried on walking, refusing to acknowledge Tiffany's comment.

"Flat chested bitch." Tiffany mumbled again as she picked up the pace slightly.

"I beg your pardon?" The secretary turned again, Tiffany unsure whether she was beginning to get irate because she could hear, or because she couldn't.

"I have a blasted itch." Tiffany ground to a halt, stooping as she slid one of her feet from the suede heels and gently scratched the ball of her foot, taking just a second before slipping her foot back inside and carrying on as they made their way down the hall, the secretary stopping as she reached a dark, wooden door.

"After you." The secretary stopped and turned to face Tiffany, smirking as her arm grasped the door handle firmly, throwing it open as her arm followed fluidly, motioning inside as her eyes once more gave Tiffany an amused examination.

"Thank you." Tiffany brushed past, her face inches from the wooden, emotionless scowl of the secretary, the name tag now visible as she stood perfectly still, Tiffany's breath in her face as her eyes dropped to the name tag before returning quickly to the secretary's eyes. "Jayne..."

"My pleasure..." Jayne replied. "Miss Marsh."

Tiffany stepped slowly over the threshold, the office before her giving her the creeps as the door slammed behind, the surprise visible as Tiffany jumped in her skin. The chequered linoleum floor and the old fashioned, wooden furniture like something from a classroom. Likewise with the walls as paintings and pictures produced by the kids passing through adorned the beige plaster, the most advanced piece of equipment being the photocopier stood proud against the back wall. Suddenly, Tiffany found herself dragged from her daze by the calm voice emanating from behind the heavy, wooden desk.

"Miss Marsh I presume." The thick, Chicago accent drifting towards Tiffany.

Turning and focusing on her host, Tiffany noticed a woman, much older than at first expected, her heavy mop of brown curls sat atop her head, clown like in appearance to Tiffany as she noticed the drab clothes. The frumpy green cardigan and floral blouse beneath speaking a thousand languages, yet every one yelling 'boring'.

"Pardon?" Tiffany answered, her identity lost within a sea of confusion.

"You are Miss Marsh aren't you?" The woman turned away, running her eyes over her diary, open on the surface of the desk. "Marie Marsh?"

"Oh..." Tiffany replied, her senses returning. "Yes. That's me." She smiled as she approached the desk and held out her hand.

"Pleased to meet you Miss Marsh." The woman stood, smiling friendly as she did and shaking Tiffany by the hand. "I'm Grace Pool, welcome to Midtown. Did you find us okay?"

Grace released Tiffany's hand and began to sit, her arm gesturing to the empty seat at the other side of the desk, beckoning Tiffany to take a seat.

"Oh yeah..." Tiffany gave a little giggle. "I just called a cab. Dropped me right at the door."

"I see." Grace smiled. "The best way when going somewhere new I guess."

"Not necessarily." Tiffany replied, forgetting herself for an instant. "Asshole tried to overcharge me."

"Really?" Grace seemed both tickled and shocked by the revelation.

"Yeah..." Stammering, how to recover... "But maybe he was new. He definitely didn't know the area. I think he was Indian."

As she spoke, Tiffany could see her grave beginning to get deeper and deeper, what the fuck was she doing?

"But yeah, apart from that, I found you pretty well."

"Well you're here now Miss Marsh. That's all that matters." Grace plucked her glasses from the desk and sat them across her nose, sitting back in the leather chair and clapping her hands together. "So... You know the basics, I'm looking for somebody to cover a six month maternity period. Nothing too strenuous, just your average secretarial work. You'd be working alongside Jane that you've just walked down here with. Have you brought a resume, maybe a couple of references?"

'Shit!' Tiffany found herself thinking, all the while trying to keep her face from exploding in anger. Such a little thing, an obvious thing. It was as if her brain had taken vacation for the day, the voice inside her head simply whispering 'good luck' as it took a break.

"Oh, shit." Grace's brow lifted as she peered over the top of the spectacles, Tiffany's language surprising to say the least.

"I'm sorry?" Grace asked, sitting forward and resting her elbows on the desk.

"No, sorry. I was in such a rush." Tiffany pleaded. "It's on my kitchen table. Fuck!"

"Miss Marsh!" Grace interjected.

"Sorry." Tiffany apologised once more.

"It's okay, just relax." Grace sat back again. "How about references?"

"Nothing recent." The reply almost whispered. Boy, did this bitch know how to make you feel worthless.

"Oh really?" Grace asked, her interest prickled. "Why is that?"

"I've been otherwise engaged." Tiffany found herself cooing. "My mother took a turn for the worst several years ago. I've been looking after her until recently."

"I see." A look of sympathy appeared on Grace's features. "I assume your mother passed on?"

"Yeah. She had it coming a long time though apparently." Tiffany replied.

"But you took time out to care for her? I applaud that. That's just the kind of selflessness I want in a person Miss Marsh." Grace smiled once more, Tiffany's face lost in a daydream as she snapped back to the present.

"Miss Marsh?" Her brain gone again, suddenly realising she was at risk of blowing her identity wide open. "Oh, yes. Well my mother always said, 'blood's thicker than water'."

"Indeed it is."

Just as Tiffany was beginning to recover, there was a knock, the door behind her opening instantly as Jane appeared from nowhere, an urgency in her voice as she spoke clearly, ignoring Tiffany and addressing Grace without a second thought.

"Miss Pool. I have Joanne and Phil Simpson on line 2."

"Okay Jane. I'll be straight out." Grace spoke calmly, unfazed by the drama unfolding in the head of her secretary. Or one of them. How many did she need? Tiffany found herself wondering why somebody would need two secretaries. She was lost once more as her eyes followed Jane out of the door, completely ignoring Grace.

"Miss Marsh?" Grace spoke. Nothing. "Marie!"

Tiffany spun back around her eyes wide.

"I'm just going to have to take this call." Grace stood and walked around the desk, reaching the door quickly. "Please excuse me. I shouldn't be too long."

Leaving through the door, closing it behind her, Grace left the room as Tiffany felt something. It was her brain, back and kicking as it screamed at her, telling her over and over again, this was her chance. Get up, look for something. Standing to her feet and taking another look back at the door, Tiffany headed to the filing cabinet behind the desk, yanking open the heavy steel drawer and thumbing her way through the tabs atop each file, soon enough letting her thumb stop on the name she was searching for.

**'****Barclay, Andy.  
Date of Birth - November 10th 1982'**

Pulling the file from the drawer, Tiffany opened it out and spread the contents along the top of the cabinet, taking in the basic details, her eyes stopping as they found what they were looking for.

**'****Room number 118, Midtown Childrens Crisis Centre.'**

Taking a quick look at the photo, held within the file by a paperclip, Tiffany hurriedly crammed all the papers back inside and threw the file back into the drawer, slamming it shut. Turning, she looked for something, every office had one, where was it? Then she noticed it, the far wall, near the window. Racing across the office, Tiffany ran her finger over the evacuation plan, the map of the building highlighting meeting points in events of fire, first aid kits, and other interesting features in event of an emergency. Sure enough, there it was. Room 118, on the floor above, more or less above the office in which Tiffany now stood. Making a mental note, Tiffany headed to the door and slowly turned the handle, pulling the door open gradually and taking a quick look into the hallway, the area clear of bodies, Grace's voice carrying down the corridor, muffled, Tiffany able to make out part of the conversation as she ghosted around the crack of the door.

"Well if you're still not sure then why not come down and meet him yourself?" Grace's voice floated along, gentle and caring, a honey glaze as she spoke. "Seriously Joanne, you have nothing to worry about. Hang on, let me see... I can't do tomorrow, but I'm free the day after. Looking at your reputation with Midtown, you could take him home the same day I'm sure. You will? That's great..."

Pulling the door further open as Grace carried on her call and finding the hall empty, Tiffany stepped out and pulled the door closed behind her, quietly skipping to the foot of the stair beside the office and treading carefully as she took one step at a time. The floorboards, old beneath her feet, creaked as she moved, lucky to have the odd shout, the cackle of laughter from the children on the floor above to mask her heavy footsteps as she eventually reached the top and turned the corner, the empty corridor a sight sent from heaven as Tiffany picked up the pace and looked at the numbers on the doors. Sure enough, about halfway down and on the right, Tiffany found it. In front of her right now, sat the door behind which lurked answers, as she reached out, her hands about to grip the handle, less than an inch from her grasp when suddenly... The door opened, Tiffany stunned as she lowered her eyes and let them fall upon the sweetest, most beautiful little boy she had ever seen. His big brown eyes, resembling those found on a mischievous puppy, his hair hanging over his forehead, just falling short of obscuring his vision as he looked up, his mouth carrying an air of uncertainty as he found Tiffany staring straight at him.

"What are you looking at microchip?" The boy asked comically. Tiffany was caught off guard, the words knocking her a step backwards.

"Hi." She managed as the boy continued to examine her. "I'm looking for somebody."

"Who?" The child asked, his head tilting slightly, his intrigue getting the better of him.

"What's your name?" Tiffany asked, quiet, calm, almost friendly.

"I'm Andy." He spoke as he smiled.

"Barclay?" Tiffany asked once more, the boy nodding.

Without warning, Tiffany seized her chance, her body flicking into autopilot as her brain took over, dropping to Andy's level, squatting before him and looking him straight in the eye her smile developing, growing.

"Hey Andy. I'm Tiffany." She spoke kindly. "Tell me Andy, what do you think to this place? Do you like it?"

"It's not bad." Andy looked slightly confused as he answered, his lip curling a touch as he thought. "I sure do wish I was home with my mom though. But she's been taken away for a while."

"Why's that Andy?" Tiffany asked once more, her smile still fixed on her face. "Is it because mommy told some stories that people didn't believe? Did mommy go crazy?" The smile started to fade, although Andy didn't seem to mind the direct approach, unable to pick up on the fire beginning to build in Tiffany's voice.

"Who are you again?" He asked.

"Listen, it's very important you don't freak out. Okay?" Tiffany grasped Andy's shoulders, her eyes staring right into him as she spoke, becoming agitated as she did so.

"Okay?" Andy seemed a touch confused.

"My name is Tiffany." She began. "And I'm a friend of Chucky's!"

Andy's eyes grew wide in terror as every hair on his neck stood in unison, the very name sending a ripple of fear down his spine as Tiffany spoke, causing him to take a step back, try to get away from this woman.

"It's very important Andy." She tried to reassure him, grabbing him firmly and pulling him back towards her. "What do you know? How did he do it? What did he want? Why you?"

"I don't know what you're saying Andy started to cry, his arms flying up as he attempted to clear his eyes of tears.

"I just want to know what he wanted with you Andy. Why were you so important?"

"He needed me." Andy barked, his voice becoming raised, echoing down the corridor. "Alive."

"Why?" Tiffany asked.

"Because he needed to transfer his soul into my body." The tears were flowing faster, Andy began to shake as he spoke. "I was the first person he told. So it had to be me. But we wouldn't let him! Alright?"

"Jesus!" Tiffany's eyes began to wander as the voice came blaring down the hall. The unmistakable voice of authority, Grace Pool.

"Miss Marsh!" Grace hollered from the end of the corridor, starting to make her way to both Tiffany and Andy, Tiffany standing to greet her as she did so, reaching them in no time at all, Andy's distress not going unnoticed.

"I was looking for the restroom." Tiffany started to explain. "I wasn't feeling well and..."

"Bullshit!" Grace scolded her as she placed a hand on Andy's shoulder, blissfully unaware of the fact that Tiffany's hand was now placed firmly behind her back, the fingers carefully wrapping themselves around the blade of Tiffany's switchblade, hidden carefully along the hem of her skirt.

"Just what are you doing here Miss Marsh? If that is your real name!" Grace asked once more, her face red with anger, her voice drizzled with venom.

Tiffany was just about to answer, make something up, as Andy opened his mouth, Tiffany thinking all the while, 'Keep it shut kid. Don't you say a fucking word!'

"She was asking me about Chucky." Andy wept. "She said her real name was Tiffany and she was a friend of Chucky's!"

Shock spreading like wildfire across Grace's face, Tiffany took a step back as she tried to get the words out, nothing at all coming, the wind well and truly taken from her sails as Grace immediately reached out and pressed the alarm, one of many placed along the hall. The bells ringing out were enough to make most children cover their ears, the piercing trill of the bell rattling their heads like a woodpecker on steroids as Tiffany did the only thing she could think of and ran, Grace reaching out, and narrowly missing as she made one last ditch attempt to restrain Tiffany. Reaching the end of the corridor, the staircase just coming into view, Tiffany was almost caught completely by surprise as Jane came hurtling round the corner and threw herself across the hall, Tiffany stopping just in time as Jane smashed into the wall and crumpled to the floor in front of her, blood and teeth flying everywhere as the glass from her spectacles shattered and lodged in her eyes, Jane screaming for help as the agony began to get too much. Stepping over her and running as fast as her heels would allow her to, Tiffany reached the foot of the stairs in no time at all and tore across the entrance, reaching the doors and crashing through into the sunny Chicago afternoon, traffic flying by as Tiffany came to a very abrupt stop by the edge of the kerb, the passing cab seeing her wave as he turned off his light and circled across the oncoming traffic before pulling up and allowing her to jump in.

"Where to miss?" The heavy Indian accent spoke as Tiffany found herself laying across the back seat, reaching back and furiously pulling the door shut behind her.

"Just fucking drive!" She screamed as the driver turned to argue, seeing the doors of the centre fly open and thinking more about it. Pressing his foot to the floor, the cab accelerated away from the kerb as Tiffany sat upright, turning and kneeling on the seats casting her eyes over the scenes of chaos behind them as Grace Pool stood on the kerb, disbelief written through every movement as she struggled to figure out where Tiffany had escaped to.

'That...' Tiffany thought to herself as she sat back down and faced forward, removing her shoes and laying her feet across the back seat of the cab. 'That was too close.'

September 18th 1990

The wind whipped and howled outside as the leaves blew frantically across the street, the red brick of the apartment building drying out as the rain passed overhead and paved way for a fresh breed of storm. Up and down the backs of the buildings, women raced from the shelter of their tiny kitchens, the rain abating and allowing the wind to work its magic as laundry was thrown over washing line after washing line, the bubbling of pans, the screaming of tormented brothers and sisters unleashed from within almost every apartment down the block as Tiffany leaned through the bedroom window and cast her eyes over the street below, the cigarette almost smoked to the filter as she allowed her gaze to follow the unrelenting traffic, the odd pedestrian as they used the street as a rat run from one block to another. Plucking the burnt out tab end from her luscious red lips and tossing it from her vantage point, Tiffany retreated to the warm surroundings of her room, the clothes from the previous days till littering the floor and the majority of the bed. Yesterday hadn't gone as planned, no doubt about that, but there'd be a next time, and next time she'd have a plan that didn't involve racing in with no specific target or goal. She'd half expected a knock from the police, Andy Barclay no doubt spilling the beans as soon as she left. He knew her name, Tiffany could kick herself now, why the fuck had she been so honest? All it would take was one phone call, the police linking a Tiffany to Chucky in no time and hammering on the apartment door. But it hadn't come yet. Which led Tiffany to believe the right thing to do would be to lay low, stay out of the way. Stepping back and feeling the soft linen covers of the bed brush against the back of her legs, Tiffany allowed herself to fall backwards, the sturdy mattress catching her as she sat, head in hands, nowhere to go, no trail to follow. As she lifted her head her eyes caught the framed picture, pride of place on her chest of drawers. Staring back at her was the cold, unanimated face of her one true love, gunned down, left for dead, alone as he worked whatever miracle he had done and transferred his soul into that... that.. that doll. What a mind fuck! Tiffany found her mind asking questions as she stared at Chucky's corpse in the picture, the front cover of one of the many local papers running the story at the time. Had he gone into that toy store with the intention of doing what he did? Had he performed his 'party trick' before the lightning struck the store? So many questions, yet very little answers. Suddenly, Tiffany was startled, a distant noise calling to her as she snapped from her trance and shook her head, the noise coming from the hall and taking a couple of seconds to register.

'The phone!' She thought to herself, standing and pulling her dressing gown shut, tying the cord around her waist as she skipped through the multitude of clothes piled in every corner of the room, reaching her door and tearing into the hall. Skidding to a halt, her bare feet sliding over the wooden floor, Tiffany grabbed the receiver and took a deep breath, her voice breaking slightly as she greeted her caller.

"Hello?" Her nervous whisper crackled down the line.

"Miss Valentine?" The voice of Officer Harry Marsh called back, the public payphone breaking up slightly, the years of vandalism and misuse causing problems.

"Oh thank god." Her sigh of relief was evident as she relaxed, her body loosening as the tension subsided.

"No need to thank god Miss Valentine." Officer Marsh replied quickly, the sound of him sucking on a cigarette all too familiar. "Just thank me with money for getting you what you wanted."

"When?" Tiffany gasped, her pupils dilating, her body tingling with excitement as a charge of ecstasy sped through her veins.

"One hour, the same place. Don't forget the money Miss Valentine." Marsh snarled slightly. "Let's make this the last we have to do with one another."

Before Tiffany could speak the line went dead, the static as Marsh banged the phone into the cradle almost making Tiffany's ear drum burst. Replacing the phone, Tiffany turned and sprinted back to her room, snaking in through half open door, the plethora of clothes on the other side making it impossible to open further as she slammed the door closed and slid the latch across. Ripping her dressing gown from her naked body, Tiffany began to get dressed, no time for ceremony as she threw on the nearest garments to hand, an incredibly short, not to mention tight, black dress and jacket plucked from their respective mountains as she dropped to her knees, her bare skin feeling the thin rug beneath offer little protection from the rough wooden floor as she ran her hand under the bed and withdrew a black sports bag. Dumping it on the bed, she stood quickly and sat beside the bag, unzipping it and exposing the money inside.

"Here goes nothing." Tiffany quietly said to herself as she examined the contents of the bag, zipping it back up before standing, throwing the bag over her shoulder and heading to her door. As she reached the hallway she slipped her naked feet into a pair of stilettos, doubling over and securing the soft leather straps around her ankles before standing up straight. Grabbing her hand bag to retrieve a pack of cigarettes and a lighter she rammed them into her pockets before dropping the bag to the floor beneath the coat hooks and pulling open the door to the apartment, turning to close it before heading down the stairs and into the street outside, her mood now filled with fresh optimism as she skipped along.

The clock ticking down.

Hearing the door to the apartment slam shut, the apartment momentarily shaking slightly as it did, the door to Evan's bedroom very slowly swung open, the lock scratching in the chamber as he carefully unlocked it and stepped into the hall, surveying his surroundings and making sure the apartment was empty as he poked his head around the living room door, taking a second to look in the kitchen, the bathroom too. Sure enough he was alone, the psychotic roommate leaving him in peace as he returned to the hall and slowly approached the phone, lifting the receiver and steadily punching in a sequence of numbers, the phone down the other end of the line beginning to ring as Evan stood perfectly still, his eyes focused on the door to the apartment and nothing else. Four rings in and the call was answered, the male voice on the other end sounding tired, dazed as he answered the call, Evan's face unmoving as he slowly spoke into the phone. His own plan was about to be put into action, and he was determined to carry this out no matter what.

"She's gone." Evan's voice carried hardly any emotion as he paused to listen for a second. "I don't care if you're busy. Just get over here quick. It's time this cheap bitch learned not to fuck with me!"


	8. Chapter 2-3

Chapter 2.3

September 18th 1990

Sitting in the dark, the shadows cast across the expanse of concrete as the street lights burned bright in the distance, Office Harry Marsh sat patiently as he awaited the arrival of his 'client'. Anxiety beginning to kick in he reached out, his heavy police jacket ruffling as he did so, grabbing the steering wheel with both hands and twisting the tightly wound leather cover until it began to burn. Drumming his fingers and continuing to chew his gum, Harry craned his neck around, checking the side of the car for Tiffany, remembering the last time, her little trick almost setting fire to Harry's groin as she assaulted the car window with a sudden burst of energy.

'No sign.' He thought to himself as he lifted his left hand, twisting his wrist and allowing the sleeve of his jacket to expose his watch, his eyes narrowing as the old retinas struggled to focus.

'Nearly out of time here sweet thing.' Harry thought once more, lowering the driver side window and tossing his tasteless gum outside, turning his head the other way and looking out through the passenger window, the never ending darkness of the concrete maze unsettling to his eyes as Harry casually returned to face front.

"BOO!" The voice screamed in his ear, the open window offering no protection whatsoever.

"Jesus!" Harry grabbed his chest and jumped a mile, a deep breath as he turned instinctively to face Tiffany her face lit up in glee as she began to laugh, bending over as her face sat next to his, the low cut top practically allowing her breasts to fall free, jiggling hypnotically as she laughed.

"Not learning Officer Marsh?" She chuckled as she stood upright.

"You trying to give me a god damn heart attack?" Marsh began to calm down as he let go of his chest, taking a look around to make sure the commotion had passed unnoticed. "Get in! Now!"

Walking across the front of the car, Harry sank back into the soft leather of the driver's seat and found his eyes mysteriously drawn to Tiffany as she began to walk down the side of the car and across the fender. The headlights illuminated the curves of her remarkable figure as time seemed to freeze, Harry's brain capturing each and every frame as his eyes washed over every inch of her voluptuous body. From her cute, yet slightly untidy blonde hair, cascading just below her shoulders, the ends flicking out randomly, a life of their own, Marsh 's eyes flowed further as he sat up a touch. Admiring her generous chest, the low cut dress leaving very little to the imagination, he stared briefly as her breasts wobbled, the tight fabric holding them in place as she walked. Allowing his gaze to drop even further, Harry took in the glorious sight of Tiffany's long, amazing legs, her well toned thighs as with every stride the short dress revealed more, riding up with every step and exposing inch after inch of peachy skin, ending abruptly as the hood of the squad car spoiled the view. The sound of Tiffany's heels clicking constantly against the solid concrete floor sparked a stirring in the old man, a feeling long forgotten as he began to feel the onset of an erection, nowadays a thing of the past as the vision of unbridled beauty made its way around the front of the car and approached the passenger door leaving Office Marsh breathless. He couldn't help but casually allow his eyes one final look as Tiffany yanked the car door open and stepped inside one leg at a time, the perfect flesh on display begging to be touched, kissed, caressed and fondled as Harry was snapped from his daydream by the sound of the car door slamming shut. He looked into Tiffany's face and shook his head slightly, trying not to lose focus.

"So..." Tiffany started as she turned to face him, her back up against the window of the car door, her lips full and tender, glistening in the dull glow of the squad cars cockpit light as she spoke.

"So what?" Harry replied, snapped from his trance.

"You have it?" Tiffany asked.

"That depends." Marsh pulled a cigarette from his inside pocket, placing it between his lips and lighting it, his hands cupped around the end. He held the packet out to Tiffany, but she waved it away, she had more important things to deal with.

"Depends on what?" She was beginning to get agitated.

"You have my money?" Marsh asked, taking a drag from the glowing cigarette.

"You have my package?" She responded, she wasn't about to let Marsh gain the upper hand.

"Look Miss Valentine. We could be here a 'very' long time. No money, no package." Harry let his eyes leave Tiffany for a second, wandering around the exterior of the car.

"Wait here." Tiffany snapped after a matter of seconds.

Opening the car door and disappearing behind the many concrete pillars, she returned seconds later with the sports bag freshly retrieved from beneath her bed. Climbing back in the car, Tiffany held the bag over Harry's lap, dropping it suddenly, the weight making Harry flinch. As his pupils dilated, Harry grabbed the zip of the bag and began to slowly expose the wads of cash waiting within before Tiffany's high pitched voice split the night air once more.

"Where the fuck is my package Harry?" She asked, her patience wearing thin.

Allowing a smile to develop, Harry turned back to Tiffany and simply nodded to the back seat of the squad car, Tiffany following his movements and craning her neck around, the black garbage bag resting on the back seat for all to see. Swinging her left arm over the back of the passenger seat, she fished the bag from the rear of the car and dragged into the front, noticing Harry's eyes were now fixed firmly on the bag joining Tiffany as the anticipation began to bubble over. Holding it up in the light, Tiffany's lips arced in an electric smile as her eyes grew wide in exhilaration, the evidence tag wrapped around the opening to the bag as Tiffany grabbed it and held it up to read.

**'****BARCLAY CASE  
NOVEMBER 88 – CHILD'S DOLL  
FULL FORENSIC INVESTIGATION TO CARRY OUT'**

Suddenly gripping the tag and curling her fist around it, Tiffany viciously ripped it from the bag before discarding it and carefully separating the thin, plastic opening, peering inside for a second before reaching in and grabbing the contents. Gently removing her hand, Tiffany was amazed. This wasn't what she had expected, not at all. It was the body of a Good Guy doll, no mistake, but what the fuck had happened to it? It was practically destroyed, charred beyond recognition and missing two limbs and its head. The torso of the doll had several cavities across it, stuffing protruding from what looked to Tiffany like bullet holes. As her face changed from one of delight to a more confused and angered expression, she cast her other hand back into the back and fished around once more, but it was no good.

Empty...

"What the fuck is this?" She snapped as she looked straight into the emotionless face of Harry.

"It's what you asked for." He replied calmly. "It's the doll. From the Barclay case."

"No Harry!" Tiffany began to raise her voice as she threw the empty bag into the rear of the car, the doll torso still gripped tightly in her other hand. "This is half a doll!"

"But that's all that's left." Harry held his hands up, an effort to calm Tiffany down.

"I didn't pay you fifty thousand dollars for half a fucking doll you prick!" Tiffany spat. "There's no voice cassette! No head!"

"But..." Harry began, but Tiffany was far from finished.

"This isn't a doll! This is a piece of fucking trash you pathetic cunt!" She carried on, the insults rolling from her lips as she began to get more animated by the second. "This is fucking useless to me! How in the fuck is he supposed to talk to me? Tell me what happened that night? How Harry? Tell me how!"

Seeing her gradually slide from angry to upset, Harry held a hand up and tried to get his head around what Tiffany was saying exactly. He was concerned, what the fuck was she talking about, talk to her? Was she for real?

"Wait a second..." Harry whispered as Tiffany sank back into her seat, tears welling up in her eyes, gliding across the smooth cheeks beneath as she tried to blink them back. All this time, money and work for nothing.

"What?" Tiffany's voice was barely audible.

"You really believe that shit?" He asked, bewilderment possessing him. "You really believe the spirit of Charles Lee Ray was inside that fucking doll? You're crazier than I thought. I mean, jesus Tiffany! You talk like you and he were best fucking friends or something. It's pathetic!"

"What?" Tiffany's head snapped upwards and fixed on Marsh.

"Yeah..." Marsh carried on. "I mean this is the problem. It's women like you, young women, that should be grateful Mike Norris put a bullet in that son of a bitch."

Marsh had no idea the reaction to expect, so it was fair enough that he found himself defenceless, his cigarette dangling from his lips in terror as Tiffany surged forward, dropping the charred remains of the doll into the foot well as her arm shot out, the hand wrapping itself around Marsh's throat as the finger nails sunk into the baggy flesh of Marsh's neck.

"DON'T YOU TALK ABOUT HIM LIKE THAT!" Tiffany bellowed fiercely, her face inches from Marsh's as her lips parted in an animal like snarl, the perfect, early white teeth behind clenched shut.

"..." Marsh gasped for air, Tiffany's grip tight enough to cause more than a touch of discomfort.

"I happen to know Charles Lee Ray 'very' well, if you must know." Tiffany's voice grew softer, quieter as she spoke. "Do you get my drift Officer Marsh?"

"..." Marsh tried to reply, instead managing only a slight nod as his eyes began to glass over, staring straight into Tiffany's face.

"In fact, if you must know, he fucked my brains out the night before he died." Her voice was almost a whisper now as her eyes moved over every pore of Marsh's face. "Is that close enough for you? Officer?"

"..." He tried to talk, but his airway was restricted, there was no chance, he was beginning to feel faint, whether through lack of oxygen or fear, he had no idea. Suddenly he managed to take a quick gasp of air as Tiffany's fingers loosened a tiny bit, Marsh seizing his chance and trying to reason with her.

"It's... The best... I could do..." Marsh struggled. "The rest... Was taken... To Play Pals!"

Tiffany instantly let go and recoiled back to her seat, Marsh's hands shooting to his neck as he took deep unforgiving breaths, the inflamed imprints of Tiffany's finger nails feeling coarse under his touch.

"Say that again!" Tiffany ordered.

"It's the truth." Marsh turned to her, still drawing heavy breaths. "Another officer delivered it over there earlier on today."

"If that's the case, then why didn't he take this?" She grabbed the burnt, black torso from the foot well of the car, holding it up before tossing it onto the rear seat of the car.

"They didn't want it." Marsh explained. "After the case was thrown out and Karen Barclay was taken into psychiatric care, Play Pals requested the doll back to run analysis on it. The judge granted them the rights, said they had to calm investors, try and repair the damage that had been done. Only things they asked for were the head and the voice cassette. Presumably to see if somebody tampered with either of them."

Tiffany took a few seconds to think, the news a revelation as it sent shockwaves through her work so far. After thinking about the new events, and her next step, she stopped biting her thumb nail and turned to talk to Marsh again.

"I want my money back." She said.

"No." Marsh grabbed the handles of the bag. "Please no. My wife."

"I DON'T GIVE A FUCK ABOUT YOUR WIFE!" Tiffany screamed, Marsh visibly disturbed.

"Please, calm down." Marsh tried to reason with her again. "I noticed something. The guy they delivered the doll to. He's pretty high up. But he's not without his share of secrets."

"Meaning?" Tiffany snapped.

"He's a kerb crawler, for christ's sake!" Marsh blurted out. "He's already been seen twice in the last ten days down Washington Park with the same girl. Besides Reed's Porno theatre. You know it?"

Tiffany nodded. Not the nicest area, full of drug dealers, gang warfare and prostitution.

"He usually takes a different girl whenever he's down there. But I know for a fact he's hot on this new girl. She's only been there a fortnight. He's been paying her for sex. Only her."

"Why are you telling me this?" Tiffany was getting irate once more.

"She's not just a hooker." Marsh replied. "She's an addict!"

"And...?"

"Do I have to spell it out?" Marsh laughed. "Go down there, talk to her, sort her out a fix and she'll get this guy to you. Then you do what you have to! Maybe he'll walk you into the factory in broad daylight. Maybe you'll have to take care of him and sneak in there with his security clearance. I don't know and I don't care, but I 'need' this money Miss Valentine!"

"Sounds like a lot of hard work Marsh." Tiffany sighed. "Who's the girl?"

Marsh grabbed his notepad from the breast pocket of his jacket and quickly scribbled a name, tearing the paper from the pad and folding it before handing it to Tiffany.

"That's her name!" Marsh seemed panicky. "It wasn't me that gave you it. Just please. Give it a try."

"This doesn't look like it cost fifty grand Officer!" Tiffany complained as she grabbed the folded piece of paper, unfolding it and reading whatever Marsh had written before folding it back up.

Harry gulped, if anything, Tiffany had proven this last ten minutes that she was capable of anything, and if what she said earlier about her and Charles Lee Ray was correct, then he was already in danger. Just as he was preparing for Tiffany to fly into rage once more, Harry was caught pleasantly off guard as she seemed to relax and smile, laugh almost.

"Lucky for you I'm in a good mood Harry!" Tiffany turned and threw open the car door, swinging her legs out before standing tall and beginning to walk off, disappearing into the evening, the 'click' of her heels beginning to get quieter and quieter before eventually fading into sheer silence.

Leaning back and resting his head against the head rest of the driver's seat Marsh took deep breaths and began to calm down, the severity of the situation beginning to dawn on him as he replayed the last fifteen minutes over and over in his head, the events a blur as the cool September breeze blew in through the open window beside him. Realising he was still sat with a sports bag full of money, fifty thousand dollars to be exact, Marsh felt something he hadn't felt for a long time, and this time it wasn't a flow of blood to long lost body part. It was optimism. For the first time in god knows how long, the future seemed to be looking much clearer as he set about figuring out how to tell his wife that she could face this thing knowing that she would be getting the very best care available. Allowing his hands to run over the length of the sports bag sat on his lap, Harry grabbed the zip and opened it, peering in and rubbing his hands in ecstasy as he plucked one of the many wads of $10 bills from inside, Marie's salvation sitting right here on his lap. It was about that moment, just as he was beginning to picture the future, a good future, that Harry noticed something off. Holding the wad of cash to his face and using the thumb of his free hand to fan the notes he felt his heart sink and his stomach almost empty. The top five notes were real alright. But underneath was some kind of toy town money, either from a kid's play set, or a board game. Although he already knew the answer, Harry dropped the wad back into the bag, picking up a different stack of notes and doing the same to them, the breeze as they rapidly parted under his thumb slamming into his face like a ton of bricks. The same again. The top five bills were legitimate, but after that... Fake. Furrowing his brow, Harry leaned forward and took a good look inside, his face hovering just above the open sports bag, the wads of notes on offer all seeming to be the same. Caught completely off guard, Harry was surprised no end as he felt his hair gripped fiercely, his head pulled back in one fluid motion as he felt the cold, slashing sensation across his throat, the fine edge of the blade cutting his skin to ribbons, over and over again at an alarming, sickening rate. As the adrenaline started pumping, Harry did what any other man would do and gripped his hands around his neck, the blade now slicing into the skin across his knuckles as the assailant took great pleasure in making sure the job was done. Harry's body started convulsing, his body temperature declining immediately as the unrelenting river of blood washed over his hands and soaked the shirt beneath his jacket, Tiffany appearing before him, leaning in through the open window of the Chicago P.D squad car. Turning her head and staring Harry in the face, she gave a little smile and a wink, giggling and lifting her index finger to her lips in a 'shushing' motion as she zipped the sports bag closed and lifted it from Harry's lap. As she stood upright, taking the bag with her, one last thought crossed Harry's mind as he tried his hardest to scream, not a sound coming from his lips. That was never Harry's money. This was all a set up.

As Tiffany skipped playfully away from the car, the soft skin of her bare feet gliding over the dusty cement floor without making so much as a sound, she rounded a concrete pillar and stopped, squatting to pick up her stilettos, her fingers weaving their way around the straps as she threw them over her shoulder as she began walking once more into the dark September evening, throwing her head back and allowing a full blooded roar of laughter to escape as the horn of the squad car suddenly sounded out, echoing around the vacant area under the overpass. Into the night the horn blared as Officer Harry Marsh finally gave up the ghost and found peace. The horn eventually alerting the proprietor of the nearby 7/11, causing him to step outside and investigate the disturbance as the last hope of the Marsh family slipped away.

Just one hour had passed since Tiffany had left Officer Harry Marsh, alone, bleeding to death as blood sprayed from the gaping wound left in his throat. Now as she laid on the couch, the darkness outside the window contrasting with the illuminated interior of the living room, she turned the paper over and over in her hands, unfolding it before jamming it back in her pocket once more. She figured things could be worse though, it wasn't as though it had cost her any money. She realised the irony of that thought and allowed her lips to form a smile, giggling a touch as she heard the living room door open. Looking up expecting to see Evan race in before disappearing again, she found herself pleasantly surprised to find him standing there, flanked by one of his few friends. With greasy long hair and spectacles that reminded Tiffany of John Lennon, she recognised this friend as Sam, one of Evan's friends from the college. With only half of Evan's weight, but twice the intelligence, Sam had a concerned look on his face as he turned from Tiffany to Evan, before returning his gaze to Tiffany, laid on the couch in a relaxed manner. Tiffany turned to Evan, whose demeanour was the exact opposite of his confused friend, his face hanging low as his eyes looked up, a menacing expression stamped across every inch of his body, from his face to his stance as his arms hung by his sides, fists clenched.

"Hello boys." Tiffany had to laugh as she took in the sight of the two pathetic looking friends.

Silence greeted her.

"Is there something you want?" She'd had a long night as it was. She didn't want to add to it.

"You fucking think you're something don't you?" Evan snarled.

"Sorry, I think what?" Tiffany was confused.

"You pull a knife on me again Tiff, and you'd better be prepared to use it!" He continued.

"Oh that..." She started, Evan cutting her off.

"Well I've had enough." He grunted, his arm nudging Sam on the shoulder. "You owe me two weeks rent! Now it's time for me and my friend Sam here to collect."

Sam laughed as he focused on Tiffany, lying on the couch, her flesh barely covered by the little amount of fabric.

"Get 'er Sam!" Evan ordered as Sam tore from his place.

Lunging at Tiffany, giving her no time to move, Sam hurled himself through the air as his hair flew out behind him, every movement a blur as Tiffany acted automatically. Lifting her leg at just the right time, Sam was helpless as he came down, the sole of Tiffany's bare foot crashing into his face as he felt his teeth loosen, the multiple cracks coming from his nose as he closed his eyes and screamed, the pain rippling through his head as blood sprayed from his face, Tiffany closing her eyes as she prepared to miss, luckily opening them to find her foot had landed bang on target. As Evan stood and witnessed, he was dumbstruck, shock evident as he turned to his stricken friend rolling on the floor and screaming as his face began to swell.

"Jesus Christ!" Evan screamed at him.

Getting her bearings quickly, Tiffany leapt from the couch, her instincts telling her she stood better chance of defending herself on foot than she did on her back. Sure enough the next wave of attack came as Evan lifted his head and fixed his eyes on her, tearing at her instantly with a roar of insanity as he lowered his head and charged. Thinking quickly Tiffany simply stepped to one side and watched on in horror as Evan missed her completely and ran head first into the glass cabinet, a present from Evan's parents on his acceptance to college, something for him to store photographs, various certificates and keepsakes in. The almighty sound of glass shattering, splintering and falling to the ground as it cut Evan to ribbons, was enough to make a grown man weep. Blood started to spread across the floor as Tiffany turned and examined the scene, chaos and devastation reigning as the two men lay motionless on the floor, their plan to extract revenge lying in tatters. Tiffany walked slowly to the door of the living room, not knowing quite what to think, her mind racing at the sudden onset of violence. Caught completely by surprise as Evan managed to drag himself to his feet, quickly regaining his balance, Tiffany found him suddenly charging at her again as she realised and ran into the hall, Evan throwing himself at her as his arms wrapped around her body tightly. Crashing into the wall, the two of them fell to the floor, Tiffany still struggling to break free as she attempted to stand, Evan quickly following as he grabbed her shoulders and spun her round, his forehead crashing into her face as she felt the hallway start to spin. Stars circling, she dropped to her ass, dizzy from the sudden blow as her vision deteriorated rapidly, the tugging at her shoulders hurting as Evan dragged her to her feet and launched her into the wall, the hard plaster cracking, feeling cold against her back as she gasped, the wind knocked from her lungs as Evan held one, spinning her round once more, throwing her across the narrow hallway and into the opposite wall, Tiffany practically bouncing off it as Evan charged at her again. Thinking quickly, Tiffany lifted her foot and kicked Evan between the legs, her shot causing him to double over immediately, his face the next to feel the fury of Tiffany Valentine as she kicked, this time using her other foot, the blow landing smack in the centre of Evan's face and causing him to hurtle back into the wall behind him. With adrenaline pumping, Tiffany dropped to her knees and grabbed her bag, grabbing her knife before returning to her standing position and charging at Evan as he stood dazed against the wall. Fury gripping her tightly she grabbed his shoulder and pressed him firmly against the now crumbling plaster of the wall, the knife in her other hand slicing through his shirt and into the flesh beneath as Tiffany threw her head back and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. Without any time to think about her next move, the sudden influx of fresh air sent her hurtling backwards through time, her eyes closed, her surroundings dark as she found herself reminiscing. The night she had first met Chucky. The alleyway, the tramp, the fear coarsing through her, chilling her to the bone as she witnessed her life flash before her eyes. Then suddenly 'he' had appeared, from the shadows, her knight in shining armour as he dealt with her assailant, no trouble at all as he had wrapped the thin wire around his neck and twisted his hands, the tramp's eyes rolling back as his brain quickly became starved of oxygen. Then her rescuer had spoke. Told her his name, asked her if she was alright. But all Tiffany felt was a rage, burning, rising from deep within as she snapped and took her vengeance. She felt a shiver wash over her as she remembered the way the knife, gripped firmly in her hand, sliced through the flesh of the nearly dead homeless man, the blood trickling from his open wound as Tiffany fell into a trance, the next thing she knew Chucky was walking with her, his overcoat draped across her shoulders as she recovered feeling in her body and walked with him, listening to his words. The more he spoke, the more sense he made as his voice gently whistled through her ears and cast a spell of evil enchantment. Suddenly, Tiffany returned to the present. Feeling her spine tingle, she giggled, the warm feeling of blood spreading across the back of her hand as it began to drip to the floor with a 'splat', the sound becoming more frequent as the blood began to flow. Now, opening her eyes, she stared dead ahead and into Evan's face, pale and ashen, the shock evident as he winced at the pain now beginning to race through his body. Looking down to the knife handle resting in her hand, Tiffany quickly withdrew the length of the blade and watched on as Evan dropped to the hard wood floor, the blood now beginning to spread from the open wound and grow into a pool around his body, still and silent. Coming round slightly, and realising the severity of the situation, Tiffany turned and slipped on her heels, quickly tying the thin straps around her ankles for the second time that night, before heading for the door. Turning for one last time, her eyes registering the carnage left behind, Tiffany smiled and ran as fast as her legs could carry her. She couldn't stay here now but that didn't matter.

Things were different these days. Nobody fucked with Tiffany Valentine.

She knew where she had to go next as she flagged a taxi, prising the bust of her dress open and pulling a wad of bills from their hiding place between her breasts.

"Where to Miss?" The cab driver asked as he turned off his light and looked in the mirror, Tiffany sliding in and closing the door behind her in a hurry.

"East Roosevelt Road, the subway station there." Tiffany spoke as she looked into the unforgiving cold Chicago night. "And be quick about it!"

Reaching the station and hopping quickly aboard the subway train, Tiffany turned as the doors slid shut behind her, the engines of the cart whirring into life as the wheels screeched and the train headed down the green line. Tiffany's stop? Washington Park, as she remembered the words of Chicago P.D Officer, Harry Marsh.

"He's hot on this new girl. Only been there a fortnight. Paying her for sex. Only her. Not just a hooker. An addict!" She could see him now, sat in the driver's seat, becoming increasingly concerned for his new found wealth as he scribbled her name in his note pad, tearing the page and folding it before handing it to Tiffany. "Go down there, talk to her, sort her out a fix and she'll get this guy to you!"

Taking the folded paper from her jacket pocket and opening it up, Tiffany glanced at the name once more. It may take time, but by the sounds of what Marsh had said, this girl hung around the Washington Park area, the red light district on East Garfield Boulevard. Reed's Porn Theatre was as seedy an establishment as one could hope to stumble across, which was probably the reason the girls descended upon the place every night. Not one to complain about the dozens of girls hanging around his business night after night, Dominic Reed probably relied upon them to bring in fresh business. Nevertheless, she had to try and get down there, find this girl as quickly as possible. It may lead to nothing in the end, but she'd kick herself if she didn't at least try and get inside the Play Pals factory, find that head, the voice cassette. Looking up as she sat on the hard, plastic seat she felt a feeling of somebody watching her, turning her head and finding an old man sat a couple rows back and facing her from his seat along the side of the otherwise empty subway carriage. A toothless grin, covered by a face of dirty, matted facial hair, Tiffany noticed the old man to be smiling at her. In her peripheral vision, something seemed off, as Tiffany allowed her eyes to drop slowly fall over the khaki rain coat, covered in stains, some the result of numerous nights spent sleeping rough. The others, the result of 'accidents' of some kind in the trouser variety. As she soaked in the haggard figure sat behind her, her eyes reached the groin section of the man, his hands buried deep in his pockets as his long coat flapped up and down, his grunting only just audible over the humming and chugging of the wheels of the train. With not a sound emanating from his direction, the look on his face told a sick story as his eyes followed her body from the top of her head to the very bottom of her spiked heels.

"For fucks sake!" Tiffany whispered as she turned her head to face forward, the masturbating vagrant behind her serving only to irritate her as she folded the paper up one more time and replaced it in her pocket. Crossing her legs and pulling her jacket closed around her torso, Tiffany prayed to God that she'd reach the East Garfield stop quickly, the time on the subway train indicating it was almost 11pm.

Soon enough, Tiffany heard a groan from a couple rows back as the tramp gently stood and began to stumble down the other end of the train, opening the door into the next carriage, the noise from outside getting slightly louder, quietening down as the door slid shut once more. Shaking her head and starting to laugh, Tiffany howled to herself as the train rocked along, the announcement signalling her stop up ahead as she felt the wheels underneath start to slow to a steady halt. What with Officer Marsh, Evan and Sam, what the fuck did a masturbating tramp have to worry her so much? Standing and grabbing the pole running along the roof of the carriage, Tiffany made her way to the doors as the train pulled into her stop and slowly ground to a halt, the doors quickly sliding open as she stepped out into the bitter night. Her legs felt the freezing breeze more than any other part of her body, the short dress perhaps not the best idea she'd ever had. Heading along the platform Tiffany reached the staircase in no time at all. Reed's was about 4 blocks west of her current location, which wouldn't have been a problem. But this was Washington Park, and as she reached the bottom of the steps and rounded the corner onto East Garfield, she immediately spotted trouble. Two rival gangs were arguing on the street, one gang surrounding the other with their cars as the two 'leaders' traded insults as they pulled guns from the backs of their pants. This was looking to be a no go zone, as Tiffany quickly sunk backwards into the shadows, her eyes flitting across the street and attempting to locate a safe route through to Reed's. The only thing coming anywhere near was an alleyway, but for all Tiffany knew, there was just as bad a scenario awaiting her that way. But with no other option available, Tiffany decided to take it, in one pocket sat the written note from Officer Marsh, the other sat her trusty knife/nail file. She peered from around the corner and down the street at the two gangs, way too busy turning on each other to notice her as she tried to quickly sprint across the street and into the alleyway, turning right as she did so and heading behind the rows of shops and drug dens. It was quiet, albeit for the sound of a couple arguing somewhere, up ahead as the voices began to grow louder. Not sounding like a usual domestic, Tiffany pressed herself to a wall, the voices seeming to come from just around the corner as she listened in. One thing became very clear, this wasn't a couple. This was a hooker, and her pimp. Slowly, Tiffany edged to the corner of the wall and peered around, the woman backed into a corner as the man twice her size herded her in, his shadow growing on the wall behind her as she began to plead, beg.

"Now I'm gonna ask you one more time." He spat at her, his neck muscles bulging as he spoke, his thick jaw wagging visibly from behind his shaven head as his arms shot out in a questioning manner, the denim jacket tightly gripping his biceps.

"I've told you I don't know Johnny!" The girl began to weep. Standing at about 6 feet tall, Tiffany figured she'd be nearer to about 5' 7' without the heels. Hispanic looking, with the skinniest figure and the longest legs Tiffany had ever seen, she was attractive for a working girl, her thick brunette hair quickly pushed away from her face, flowing long locks falling every which way as her thick, full lips moved in abject desperation.

"And I've told you BULLSHIT!" Johnny snarled as he grabbed her and pushed her into the corner, the girl screaming as he manhandled her, his vice like grip too much for her arms.

"Johnny, you're hurting me baby!" She pleaded once more.

"Then tell me Gee." He calmly whispered. "Where's my fucking money?"

"I gave you it all. It was all there!" Tiffany figured the girl must be telling the truth. Either that or she had a way better pain threshold and was one fine actress.

"No it isn't Gee." Johnny released her as he began to turn away, pace backwards and forwards behind her, the alleyway stacked with boxes, planks of wood, oil drums, offering no room for him to move up and down.

"You've gotta believe me." She begged as she took a step forward and reached out, grabbing his jacket sleeve gently. Without a word of warning, Johnny spun and swung his arm, the back of his hand catching her square in the cheek, knocking her from her feet as she fell into the corner of the alleyway, mice and rats scurrying away in fear as she landed.

"YOU THINK I'M FUCKING STUPID?" He screamed.

"No." The girl began to sit up, the palm of her hand held flush against her bruised cheek, her short dress torn along the side as she landed roughly.

"Then tell me." Johnny asked as he squatted before her, hands held together in prayer as he attempted to remain calm. "You were a hundred down the other night. You're already fifty down tonight. Where the fuck is my money you lying piece of shit whore?"

Tiffany had heard enough, stepping from the shadows as Johnny stood, the girls eyes glancing her but refusing to focus, not flinching as she watched Tiffany approach and grab a long plank of wood, resting across two oil drums just behind Johnny as he stood and raised his foot. He was just about to unleash a hailstorm of kicks as Tiffany brought the wood crashing down across the back of his head, the plank splintering into two pieces immediately and crashing to the floor as Johnny fell, hitting his head on the hard concrete as he did so. Dropping to her knees, Tiffany pulled the knife from her pocket and raised it high in the air, about to fetch it crashing down, until suddenly, she felt something around her wrist. Looking up, she noticed it was the girl, now stood beside and gripping her arm tightly.

"No." The girl cried. "Don't kill him!"

Stunned, Tiffany turned to Johnny, beginning to squirm as he came to his senses, his head shaking as he tried to clear the stars no doubt circling his head and clouding his vision.

"I'm not gonna kill him." Tiffany smiled as the girl released her wrist. "I'm just gonna slow him down. Run, now as fast as you can."

With that the girl raced to the opening of the alleyway, the street light filtering through as she stopped and watched as Tiffany brought the knife crashing down on the back of Johnny's calf, the bloodcurdling shriek echoing through the night as voices instantly hollered out into the night, telling whoever was making the noise to keep it down. Standing and running as fast as her heels would allow, Tiffany caught up with her new friend by the entrance to the alleyway, stopping as they both turned to see Johnny start to stand, the blood pouring from the back of his leg as he spun and fixed his eyes on them, the wound in his leg slowing him as he limped after them, gradually picking up the pace.

"Now." Tiffany motioned to the street. "GO!"

As one, the two girls headed into the street, racing down the row of rundown buildings, the lights in every one extinguished as they heard the scream of Johnny in the distance behind them, emerging from the alley and beginning to pick up the pace, his rage working as an anaesthetic as he ran. Within minutes the girls rounded the corner of the block and ran, Tiffany spotting a shop doorway with a light on, ducking inside and grabbing the girl, just as Johnny rounded the corner after them. Thinking quickly, Tiffany slammed the shop door closed and immediately hit the light switch on the wall, casting the small area into darkness as she locked the door, the two girls crouching by the window as the hulking figure tore past, confused as he screamed into the night. After leaving it a few seconds, Tiffany started to nervously giggle, the adrenaline beginning to subside as the street outside returned to silence, the growling voice dying in the distance. She turned to the girl, who also had a relieved smile on her face. Looking at each other the two girls embraced, Tiffany's new best friend eternally grateful. The silence was of course fractured by the tattoo artist parting the beads leading to his studio as the constant droning of tattoo needles reverberated around the small shop, the buzzing becoming more obvious as the two girls calmed down.

"The hell happened out here?" The tattoo artist asked puzzled, his face littered with piercings, his huge arms crawling in ink.

"Sorry." Tiffany laughed as she turned and flicked the switch, the small shop illuminating magically, the colours leaping from the four walls surrounding them.

"Thank fuck for that." The artist spoke. "I thought a damn bulb had blown."

The girls laughed as they began to look at the various pictures. Snakes coiled round daggers, scrolls with bible verses, animals, crosses, banners with names. You name it, this guy did it.

"So what are you girls after?" The man spoke, crossing his arms.

"Oh we're not after anything." The un-named girl replied softly. True enough Tiffany now noticed a slight hint of an accent.

Tiffany was just about to agree with her as something caught her eye.

"Oh I wouldn't say that." She smiled, lifting her finger and tapping on a picture of a small red heart, the dagger sticking in the left hand side giving it a more 'personal' touch.

It only took 30 minutes. Ended up costing Tiffany $45, but what the hell, she'd been wanting to do it for ages, but never gotten round to it, taking it as a sign, fate working with her for once as she found herself accidentally locked in a tattoo parlour. The artist had been determined to add something else, ideally a flame beneath. Said it would depict Tiffany's "burning love for whoever this Chucky guy was." Now sitting on the couch of this strange girl's dirty, cluttered apartment, Tiffany touched her breast and slightly winced, the tender skin feeling painful to touch. But it was worth it. She had opted to have a name above the heart, the name of her one true love, emblazoned across the top for all to see, a testament to her feelings for Chucky as the knife plunged in. She was just finishing her cup of coffee as the girl appeared in the doorway of the living room, her dressing gown almost transparent against the bright light of the hallway after quickly getting changed and slipping into a hot bath. From what she had told Tiffany on the way over, her name was Gabriella. She'd not been in Chicago too long, running away from her abusive husband back in Florida after they'd made the trip over from Cuba just two years ago. She'd made Tiffany a hot drink as a way of saying thank you, for helping deal with Johnny.

"It's getting late." Gabriella spoke quietly

"Yeah. I should go." Tiffany quietly answered as she placed her cup on the messy coffee table and stood to her feet. She'd been glad of the rest, a chance to get out those heels. Why she didn't own a pair of sneakers was beyond her. They'd have come in damned handy tonight, that was for sure. She bent over and grabbed her heels, starting to walk towards the door.

"No." Gabriella put her hand out and grabbed Tiffany by the wrist. "Please. Stay. I don't want to be alone. Not if he comes looking for me."

"Well I may not be much use without the element of surprise." Tiffany laughed.

"I know." Gabriella smiled, her beautiful Cuban face now sporting a slightly swollen cheek and the mother of all bruises. "But you'd be doing me a favour Tiffany. You can have the spare room, across from mine."

Tiffany didn't seem to need a second invitation as she stroked Gabriella's arm, her eyes falling on Tiffany as she grabbed it and brought it to her face, kissing the back of her hand.

"Thank you." Gabriella spoke, her full lips curving into a beaming grin. "I'll see you in the morning my friend."

With that Tiffany simply nodded and headed down the hall, Gabriella watching her every inch of the way, Tiffany feeling her eyes covering every square inch as she walked, slowly turning and closing the bedroom door behind her. Hanging her jacket over the chair sat beside the bed, Tiffany slumped, sitting on the mattress in a trance for a few seconds, before long feeling a sensation she hadn't felt for a while ripple through her body as things started to look better. Standing and unzipping her dress, she allowed it to fall to the floor before running her thumbs under the waist band of her thin lace underwear and rolling her panties to the floor, kicking them on top of the dress. Climbing into bed, Tiffany reached over to the chair and dug her hand into the pocket of her leather jacket, retrieving Officer Marsh's handwritten note. Unfolding it, she lay back and rested her head against the headboard, her lips smirking ever so slightly, eventually turning into a grin as she read the name on the note out loud and thanked her lucky stars.

"Gabriella!"


	9. Chapter 2-4

Chapter 2.4a

September 19th 1990

2:26am

Stirring, slowly rolling over and allowing her eyes to flicker open, Tiffany took in her surroundings. Moonlight cascading in through the open curtains and covering the far wall of the room in a rich glow. It took her a few seconds to get her bearings, remember where she was, but seconds were all it took, the memories racing back. The events of the past twenty four hours passing as a blur, only now becoming clear as she let her mind wander, the cogs whirring as she began to think. Slowly, she rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling, the plaster badly damaged as her eyes followed a lone crack, running from one corner and along the heavy uneven finish, finally ending as it reached the centre of the room before disappearing abruptly behind the filthy light fitting suspended high above the vast space beneath. As she lay and focused on the light, she noticed something in the distance. A noise, from inside the apartment? Yes. It had to be. A groaning noise, creeping through the darkness, snaking down the hall and slithering between the narrow gaps in the doorway, just audible as it floated into the room and crackled around the four small walls. Digging her elbows into the soft mattress, Tiffany pushed herself up and cocked her head to one side. What was it? Was it Gabriella? Then a thought slammed home, panic filling her as the answer hit home like a ton of bricks. Johnny, the guy from earlier in the evening. Gabriella hadn't said too much about him, but from what Tiffany witnessed, he was her pimp alright. The last time they had seen Johnny though, he'd been limping towards East Garfield Boulevard, blood streaming from the knife wound in the back of his leg. Make no mistake, if this was Johnny, then shit was about to well and truly hit the fan and Tiffany knew it. Sitting bolt upright and swinging her legs over the side of the surprisingly comfortable bed, Tiffany stood and grabbed her jacket from the back of the chair, slipping her arms down the sleeves as she pulled the fur lined leather up her back and, using her foot, felt in the darkness, finding and sliding her panties across the stained carpet and towards her. Pulling them up, the thin material not offering the best of coverage but doing the job as best they could, Tiffany slowly and silently crept towards the door, tip toeing as she grabbed the handle and slowly twisted, pulling the door towards her. As it opened, the dim light from the semi open door down the hall calmly worked its way towards her room and covered her in a faint orange glow. Looking over her shoulder, back into the room and spying the rest of her clothes, Tiffany briefly considered getting dressed and making a run for it, quickly thinking better of it and stepping into the hall and taking small steps towards the door up ahead. The groans began to get louder as she approached the flickering light, the tense atmosphere dissipating as the pleasure hidden within washed over Tiffany and instantly set her mind at ease, the weight lifting from her shoulders at once as she slowly and silently glided towards the dimly lit room, allowing her eyes to peer through the crack between the door and the frame. The scene that greeted her filled her with an energy she had longed for since the night Chucky had died, as Gabriella threw her head back and groaned once more, louder, deeper as she straddled the man beneath her, wrapping her legs around his naked waist as he sat upon the edge of the bed and flung his arms around her, clawing at the skin of her back as he sank his finger nails in and gasped in delirious glee. The room danced in the shadows as the candles littered across every available surface flickered manically, casting the room into an eternal glow of tranquillity as the couple kissed and romped on the edge of the bed. Clothes were strewn across the floor as were various sex toys and lubricants, two sets of handcuffs, a vibrator and the largest bottle of vodka Tiffany had ever seen taking pride of place on the small, bedside table as the groans grew louder, Gabriella lowering her head as she rapidly thrust her pelvis into the man's groin and allowed her lips to take on a snarling look, leaning in and grabbing his chin with her free hand, kissing him passionately as he grabbed her neck from behind and held her there. If there was one thing Tiffany found alarming, it was the fact that the 'client' of Gabriella's didn't look like your average, seedy, sex crazed maniac. He looked professional, smart, the kind of guy that wouldn't give you the steam from his piss if you approached him in the street. But now, seeing him coiling himself around Gabriella as their hands met and he flipped her all at once onto her back, Tiffany felt ever so slightly turned on. It had been a long time since Chucky and, well... It wasn't for lack of offers, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. Not with things as they were. Finding her attention drawn, for a second, away from the events unfolding in the next room, Tiffany edged closer still, pressing her cheek up against the gap in the door and drinking in the view. As Gabriella laid on her back, legs open with only the tiniest of thongs to preserve what modesty remained, she reached over to the bedside table and grabbed the vodka, taking a huge mouthful before sitting up, her lover now knelt in front of her, hands on his waist as he waited, the anticipation most probably killing him as Garbiella now crawled across the bed on all fours. Swallowing the mouthful of vodka, she shook her head as her long dark hair coming to a rest along her shoulders and down her back, flashing a smile reserved for only the craziest of nights as she lifted the bottle once more and took yet another mouthful, holding the alcohol in her mouth as she placed the bottle on the floor beside the bed, turning quickly back to her man and grabbing his now erect penis, slowly and erotically sliding her lips over the end and down the shaft, the mouthful of vodka adding extra sensation as the man removed his glasses and threw them to the floor, lifting his hands to support the back of his head as he groaned. Slowly at first, Gabriella worked her lips along his length, her hand springing up and beginning to gently massage the base and up towards the tip as she very slowly worked her head back and forth, quickly... Slowly. Gently... Roughly. Tiffany found herself unable to see the wide grin crossing the guys face as he too rocked back and forth on his knees as Gabriella sucked and played, her eyes never once leaving his face as he allowed a hand to drop, running his fingers through her hair before she very carefully allowed her lips to slide free, kneeling up and opening her mouth to reveal the vodka, not a drop spilt. Her hand still playing rigorously with his erection, she leaned in and pulled him close, their tongues entwining once more as they kissed deep and long, the taste of the alcohol at first taking her 'client' by surprise as he gradually settled into it and pushed back, his hands now dropping to Gabriella's waist as one very tenderly started to play with her clitoris, the other coming from behind and landing with a satisfying smack on her ass. Unable to stand it a second longer, Gabriella threw herself forward and manoeuvred him inside her once more, one leg at a time flung around his waist as she felt him penetrate her, the muscles inside contracting with every pulse, her bare breasts pressed firm up against his well toned chest as their lips wrote an enchanting story of animal lust. Wrapping his arms around her, the man suddenly threw her to the bed, Gabriella landing on her back, legs open, as the man reached down the side of the bed and grabbed the vodka, bringing it up to shoulder height and playfully tilting it above her face, Gabriella now licking her lips as she squirmed around the bed, her breast bouncing with every movement, hands playing feverishly, one with herself, the other with her man. Tiffany had never seen such a beautiful body on a woman, but Gabriella really was working it for this guy, if it was all an act then she deserved an Oscar, at the very least a Golden Globe. Leaning over her, his thick head of mousey hair almost obscuring his vision as the sweat formed on his brow, the guy started to pour the vodka over Gabriella's face, her moans of delight increasing in volume as her tongue licked violently, the man beginning to laugh slightly as he did, proceeding to do so until the bottle eventually ran empty, the bedding beneath them now sodden as he threw the bottle to the floor and lowered himself atop her once more, flicking the thin material of her underwear to one side as he slowly entered her for the third time, gasps heard from Gabriella as she felt him swell inside her once more. All Tiffany could see now was the stranger's backside moving slowly up and down, Gabriella's calf muscles standing to attention as they folded around his waistline and gripped him tight, the rhythm picking up as he went deeper with every thrust, the screams picking up also as they both began to make more and more noise. By the looks of it, this was the business end of the 'meeting' and to tell the truth, Tiffany was kind of disappointed. The ecstasy escaping the confines of the poorly decorated room as both Gabriella and her man allowed themselves to be caught in the throes of passion served only to remind her what she'd been missing these last couple of years as she found herself unable to look away, Gabriella now held down by the wrists as the man groaned louder, longer, lifting his head as he finally spoke.

"JESUS I'M GONNA CUM!" He groaned through gritted teeth as he threw his head back and worked harder, faster, releasing one of Gabriella's wrists as he instantly reached down and started playing with her, all the while thrusting deeper every time.

"GO FOR IT BABY!" Gabriella replied as she closed her eyes and dug the back of her head into the pillows beneath.

The screams emanating from the bedroom had become unbearable now, the sheer volume enough to cause discomfort for Tiffany as she stood on her tip toes, trying anything to get a better view as the pair embraced with a kiss once more, the mystery man leaning in, their bodies meeting, the act of love taking over as the sweat ran across their bodies and they climaxed, their lips locked together and creating a muffled cry of pleasure as they both ejaculated before finally grounding to a halt, Gabriella's partner flopping to her side, his back tensing as he flinched at the touch of the cold, vodka laden sheets.

Without saying another word, the mystery man sat upright, the sweat dripping from his face as he threw his legs over the side of the bed frame and immediately stood, grabbing his various garments of clothing from the floor around him. Still panting, her lip trembling still from the waves of pleasure, Gabriella sat up and pulled the damp sheets around her body, holding them there as she spoke.

"Don't tell me you have to go now!?" She seemed disappointed, the undercurrent of displeasure leaping from her lips.

"Gabriella." The man turned as he pulled the crisp white shirt over his back and started buttoning up, his face lifting to give her his full attention. "You know the score. I can't be late, not again."

"You're not going to tell her then?" Gabriella frowned as she sank back against the headboard.

"It's..." He paused, his shirt fully buttoned as he leant forward and pulled up his pants, hooking the clasp and fastening the belt around his waist. He held his hand out in a calming motion and continued. "You know how it is. It's not the right time. Besides which, we've only known each other what? Two weeks?"

"Two weeks tomorrow baby." Gabriella smirked as she ran her eyes over his body, examining every inch as he pulled on his suit jacket and searched the floor of the filthy bedroom for his spectacles.

"Exactly, only two weeks." He replied as he fished a fistful of crumpled notes from his jacket pocket. "Eight years of marriage is a hell of a lot to throw away over two weeks of..."

"OF what?" Gabriella interrupted. "Fun? Sex? Lust? Happiness? I can make you happy Max. It might only be two weeks to you, but it's been the best two weeks of my life."

Stepping toward the bed and leaning over, the handful of money held towards Gabriella, he looked into her eyes and kissed her as she sulked.

"If it's been so good you'll not be wanting this then am I right?"

Instantly, Gabriella's hand shot out, grabbing the money and yanking it, the wads of cash still gripped firmly in his hand as he refused to let go.

"Give it time." Max whispered as he slowly released his grip, his lips landing on hers as they kissed once more, Gabriella flashing her smile as they parted, Max standing upright and turning to leave the room.

"What about..." Gabriella called after him, her voice causing him to pause and turn towards her. "You know..."

"God dammit." He hissed through clenched teeth, turning back and digging his hands into the other pocket of his jacket, withdrawing a small plastic bag, the brown powder resting inside making Gabriella's eyes dilate in delight. Shaking his head, he tossed the small see through bag onto the bed, Gabriella diving after it, sitting upright once more as she ran her eyes over the contents, turning to her side and opening the top drawer of her bedside table. Tiffany was amazed at the various equipment on display, rubber tubing, needles, syringes, lighters, spoons stained a disgusting shade of brown. Without hesitating, Gabriella opened the bag and poured some of the contents onto the metal spoon now sat in her hand, dropping the bag before reaching under the bed and pulling a bottle of water from nowhere.

"Jesus, do you have to do that now?" Max seemed disgusted. "Can't even wait till I'm gone?"

"You can make your own way out yeah?" Gabriella spoke, autopilot kicking in as she refused to even acknowledge her lover from just minutes before.

Without saying a word he spun on the spot, made for the door, Tiffany noticing and stepping back quickly, quietly as she once more pulled her leather jacket around her naked body, the darkness of the shadows obscuring her from sight. As Max emerged from the room he stopped, pausing to turn back to Gabriella and shake his head in disbelief before pushing the door a little further to and making his way down the corridor, straight past Tiffany and towards the front door of the apartment, stopping to slip on his shoes before pulling open the door and stepping out into the cold, dark early morning moonlight of Washington Park. Hearing the door click behind him, Tiffany gingerly stepped forward from the shadows and crept to the crack in the door frame once more, the view greeting her differing slightly now as Gabriella sat in a frenzy, the lighter held under the spoon, the water mixed with the brown powder Tiffany had already correctly guessed to be heroin bubbling in the dirty cutlery as Gabriella quickly extinguished the flame and threw the lighter to the floor. Snatching a syringe and a cotton ball from the drawer of her bedside table, she now set to work, using the cotton ball as filter as she sucked the now dissolved mixture into the syringe and attached the needle, flicking it slightly with her finger nail and depressing the plunger a tiny amount, the mixture ejected from the end of the needle satisfying Gabriella immensely as she placed the syringe on the dirty bed sheets and tied the rubber tubing just above the elbow of her left arm, pulling tightly and gripping the tubing between her teeth as she held the arm out straight, smacking the surface of the skin until a sufficient vein revealed itself. Within thirty seconds she had what she wanted and reached over for the syringe, delicately sliding the point of the needle into the skin and depressing the plunger. Tiffany knew what was coming. She'd seen it before, experience getting the better of her as she started to count quietly.

'1... 2... 3... 4... 5... 6... 7... 8... 9...'

And she was gone, Gabriella's body flopping backwards as her eyes rolled up into her skull, her arms crashing to her sides, one over the edge of the bed, the needle still protruding deep from within her vein as her body went limp, the momentum of the arm moving causing the syringe to fall free, a slight rattle as the apparatus rolled across the filthy floor and under the bed, Gabriella now sat in the soft flicker of the room full of candles as Tiffany pulled open the door and got the best view she'd had all night, the words of Officer Harry Marsh echoing around her head.

'Not just a hooker. An addict!'

Tiffany turned to leave, closing the door to as she did so, but not without casting one more glance of Gabriella's comatose body and smiling broadly.

'Sort her out a fix and she'll get this guy to you'

7:45am

Pushing open the heavy double doors, the bright blue paint reflecting in the large, double glazed windows of the building with a nauseating effect, the two men laughed and exchanged pleasantries as they entered the locker room. Crossing the empty space, the two men opened their respective lockers, withdrawing their blue smocks and sliding them on before quickly placing their personal possessions within the lockers and slamming the door closed with a thud and a click, the locks inside each door activating as the men twisted their keys and returned them to their pockets. Standing at 6' 3", James turned and spoke to his colleague, his lips curling into a smile as he relayed his tale from the night previous.

"So then Bush decided he wasn't bowling for shit and took his sorry ass home." James laughed. "Best thing in the end, I figure McGuire would've tore him a new ass hole if he'd carried on running his mouth like that."

"Jesus." Don replied as he buttoned his smock, his head flicking up as he cast his glance towards his friend. "Tell me again, why does the interesting shit happen when I'm not there?"

"I dunno man, but you have to make it next week." James crossed the room and pulled open the next set of double doors, the corridor on the other side stretching on forever, the walls littered with pictures of toys. Good Guy dolls in various trademark attire, fire engines, police uniforms, dolls houses.

"Yeah?" Don asked, passing through the door as James held it open, finally finishing the buttons of his work clothes and placing one hand in his pocket, the other shooting to his face and pushing his large round glasses back up to the bridge of his nose. "And why might that be?" He asked James, his shadow up ahead almost blocking out the light.

"Well you didn't hear this." James turned his head, his whole body in fact as he walked. "But from what I understand, Gary's got a stripper booked for Mike's fortieth down at the bar."

"No shit." Don exclaimed, his smaller, wiry figure following on behind, his face cracking into a grin as he spoke. "Mikey's turning forty huh?"

"Yep." James turned to face forward once more, another set of doors up ahead easily cast aside as he threw them open, the huge open floor of the Play Pals factory suddenly sparking into life as the two men stepped through and into the noisy environment.

Stopping, the two men turned their heads, taking in their surroundings, as though for the very first time, the twenty two years of joint service saying otherwise. In the distance conveyor belts moved noisily along, machinery whirred overhead as probes dropped from above and stitched the red hair onto the dolls heads. The construction chamber sitting atop a set of rollers was hard at work, never relenting as the dolls approached, held firm by their heavy wooden bases. Once inside, the arms automatically retrieved arms and legs, plunging them into the chamber and affixing them to the, until recent, blank torsos. Further down the line were another set of rollers, leading down into a separate department where the final line f production carefully dressed each doll and inserted the voice cassettes, giving them a quick test before boxing them and sending them along the line to be boxed and prepared for shipping. Make no mistake, the shop floor was buzzing with life this morning as the two friends made their way to their usual stations to find the duty manager calling to them as he raced across a designated safe route.

"Yo." The call echoed throughout the humongous space, causing James and Don to spin on the spot, confusion etched into their faces.

"What the fuck's this?" James asked Don, his eyes never leaving the onrushing colleague.

"Fucked if I know." Don replied in an instant, his eyes too never straying.

"Calm down Pete." James chuckled as the duty manager neared the two men, holding up his hands in a calming manner as Pete came to a standstill. The string vest laying exposed beneath the open smock, the hard hat held on his head by Pete's free hand, the other hand gripping a clipboard, Pete panted and gasped as he stopped, his belly ceasing to bounce as he did so.

"You guys..." Pete gasped for air. "You ain't down here today."

"What?" Don asked, bewilderment evident in his tone.

"Says who?" James' face turned serious as he asked.

Doubled over, Pete took a deep breath and stood upright, his fist shooting over his shoulder, a thumb extended in a pointing motion.

"I got my orders from Mattson." Pete answered. "Told me to send two guys upstairs. Some kinda special job."

"What kind of job?" Don asked, curious.

"No idea." Pete replied quickly, his breathing pattern now back to normal. "He just asked for two guys that could put a doll together."

"Is that so?" James allowed his eyes to wander slightly as he tried to think what could be waiting upstairs. Suddenly the air was cut, the rumbling noise of the production line pierced by the high pitched whistle from the gantry up above. As one, the three men each looked immediately upwards, the smug figure of Max Mattson waving to them from above. The charcoal grey suit, the crisp white shirt and bright red tie, Mattson wasn't much of a favourite among the people on the shop floor. Once one of them, it seemed the delusions of grandeur had finally gotten to his head as he kicked every one of his former co-workers in the face as he made his way up the career ladder in place at Play Pals Toys. Thinking of himself as some kind of executive, the rest of the factory knew the truth. He was basically a floor runner for Sullivan, one of the directors, who had seemingly chosen Mattson at random to fill the position left by the last poor guy. Rumours had it that Mattson had dirt on Sullivan, but that didn't sit well with some people. Sullivan was no pushover, if he knew you had dirt on him the last thing he'd do is give you a raise and a company car. It'd be the dungeons, working for a pittance and constantly being reminded of exactly who was in charge.

"Gentlemen." Mattson shouted from his elevated position, overseeing the factory ticking over like clockwork. "Shall we?" He stepped to the side and held his hand out, the three men following his gesture and finding their eyes falling on the wrought iron steps in the far corner of the room.

"Your funeral gentlemen." Pete waved them off as he turned his back and returned to his position over at the other end of the shop floor. Walking slowly, Mattson walking parallel with them overhead, the two men quietly spoke.

"What you think this is all about?" James asked through gritted teeth, his lips barely moving.

"No idea." Don responded in the same manner as they reached the foot of the steps, beginning to climb one at a time. "Fucker looks like shit. Like he's not even been to bed. Take my advice man, don't give this fucker a reason."

"I wasn't planning on doing." James spat, the top of the steps now coming into view, Mattson awaiting them with a rather large, smug grin.

"This way fellas." He snapped as he spun and began to walk on ahead, crossing the gantry and approaching a door to the offices.

"So Max..." James asked, his years of working alongside his new supervisor surely counting for something.

"It's Mr Mattson." The response was sharp and barbed, spat through venomous teeth. Those years obviously counting for fuck all.

"So Mr Mattson..." James began again. "What's all this about?"

"We have special job for you two." Max spoke as they came to the door leading from the factory floor, stopping and swiping his security card through the reader as the door clicked open.

"What might that be?" Don asked, intrigued.

"You'll see." Max replied as he marched them down yet another corridor. Pictures of Play Pals' flagship product, the Good Guy, once more littering the walls.

At the end of the corridor, the two men were not in the least surprised to find yet another door, this time bearing the sign 'PROTOTYPE LAB' and yet another card reader as Max once more scanned his card and pulled the door open, tearing through as James and Don followed on behind. They found the room on the other side of the door to be partitioned by a wall with a huge window, the space on the other side occupied by manual machinery, workbenches, doll parts and computers, the rich, blue walls of the lab contrasting with the more sombre white and burgundy of the observation room the men now found themselves stood in. In the distance of the lab sat a black bag, the manila label hanging from the opening almost seductively as James noticed it.

"What's all this about?" He asked concerned. "What's in the bag?"

Folding his arms across his chest, Mattson turned to his two workers and smiled an accomplished smile.

"That, gentlemen, is your job for today." He coolly answered.

"What you mean?" Don asked.

"Well..." Mattson leaned forward and opened the door to the lab, stepping inside and crossing the floor as James and Don followed once more. In no time at all they reached the workbench and Mattson ripped open the bag, reaching inside and pulling a charred Good Guy head from inside, placing it on the workbench and reaching inside the bag once more to fish out the dolls voice cassette, dropping it beside the burned out head and turning to face them, crossing his arms alowly as he leaned against the bench. "This is your job today. Examine this voice cassette, give it a good listening to, make sure nothing's been overdubbed, erased, re-recorded, anything like that."

"Okay." James seemed wary. "And what's the deal with the head?"

"That just needs a clean up." Mattson lifted his hand and looked at his wrist, the watch revealing itself from beneath the cuff of his shirt. "Better look alive too gentlemen. Mr Sullivan's due in a couple of hours, and he wants this episode finally putting to bed."

"I don't get it." Don said, his eyes flicking from James, to Mattson, to the doll head. "What episode."

"Let's just say this is a need to know basis my friends." Mattson stood upright and began to walk towards the door. "And right now, you don't need to know a fucking thing."

Stunned, the two workmates stood silently, watching as Mattson passed through the doorway, stopping to close the door, but not before imparting some words of wisdom upon his underlings.

"Get to work, and don't let me down. This is your heads gentlemen. Not mine."

Without saying another word, Mattson closed the glass door and left the room on the other side of the glass, returning to the corridors of power and no doubt a nice cushy office.

"Well..." Don turned to James and grabbed the cassette. "Let's get to it. This might still work, not as badly damaged as that head you're gonna have to clean."

"Why did I know I'd get that job?" James laughed as he grabbed the head and tossed it from hand to hand, his eyes scanning the surface of the workbench for something to perhaps clean the burnt rubber from the metal surface, finally finding a scalpel. "What you reckon this is?"

"My own opinion?" Don turned to make sure nobody was listening in. "This is that doll from the news."

"Get outta here." James gasped, stopping to look at the charred head closer. The lone eye staring straight back at him, brilliant blue and surrounded by a plethora of sheer whiteness. The rubber skin had been melted beyond repair, the tufts of red hair embedded in.

"Straight up man. It was on the news the other day. That woman, you know her that got the kid taken away?" James nodded, his mouth agape as he once more looked at the head. "They found her fucking nuts man. Sent her to the fucking nut house. But what else could she expect?"

"Put that in there and see what it says." James pointed with his free hand to the banks of computers on the far wall, the cassette player sitting dead centre.

Following James' gaze, Don crossed the floor and inserted the partially melted cassette into the deck and pressed it closed, hitting the rewind button and finding the tape almost already rewound.

"Either this cassette's fucked, or it never even got played once." He stated to his colleague as he pressed play. Suddenly the room lit up as the voice crackled through the speakers, the tape slowly playing through the state of the art equipment on offer.

"Hi... I'm Sonny... And I'm your friend to the end..." The cute voice boomed from the speakers before continuing. "I like to be hugged... Hey... Wanna play? Hi... I'm Sonny... And I'm your friend to the end... Hey... Wanna play? Hi... I'm Sonny... And I'm your friend to the end... Hey... Wanna play? Hi... I'm Sonny..."

"Jesus..." Don shut off the tape player. "You think we have to check the whole of this thing? It goes on forever. I've already played it more than the kid that had it."

"I dunno man..." James seemed concerned once more as he took his glasses and wiped them on the tail of his smock. "Mattson'll be pissed if he finds out you didn't."

"But seriously, what's he expecting us to find?" Don laughed.

"I haven't a fucking clue man." James replied. "But better safe than sorry."

"Yeah I guess." Don smiled as he pressed the play button once more. "Hey... Why do we always get the shitty jobs?"

"Because that's the way it is I guess..." James smiled before turning back to the charred head, digging the miniature spade in behind the dolls one remaining eye, levering it forward and allowing it to drop to the surface of the workbench.

Laughing, he turned back to Don, the tape playing the same shit over and over, only at a much lower volume.

"Whatever doesn't kill you, makes you stronger I guess."

9:37am

Turning key in the lock, Joanne Simpson turned and opened her bag, dropping the key inside before walking along the front of the house and making her way to the car, the red Ford station wagon purring on the driveway as her husband Phil sat behind the wheel, the engine ticking over as the couple prepared to make their way into town. Pulling open the door and sliding inside, Joanne dropped her bag to the floor and kicked it into the foot well, reaching over her shoulder and grabbing the seat belt. As she pulled the belt across her chest and inserted it into the housing with a 'click', she looked up to her left and into Phil's eyes, offering a smile as he returned her stare.

"Thank you." She softly spoke.

"For what?" He looked puzzled.

"For this." She lifted her head and looked through the windscreen, the house before them feeling empty recently, the coldness spreading from room to room with every passing day. Kyle was all well and good, but they knew full well she had other plans. Shipped from foster home to foster home on what was nearly a bi-monthly basis, she had made her aspirations known the second she arrived. She was going it alone next year and there was nobody could stop her, no matter how much they wanted to help.

"Look." Phil followed her gaze and let his eyes wander over the hose also. "I'm not promising anything. Grace says we can help this kid then we'll do our best. But we know this isn't what we want full term."

"I know." Joanne whispered as she turned to face him once more.

"I mean come on Joanne." He laughed a little. "When we started doing this, it was more or less for brownie points. Since we started, all we seem to be getting is everybody else's cast offs."

Closing her eyes and resting her head against the passenger window, Joanne exhaled deeply as Phil released the hand brake, the car beginning to roll gently down the driveway before coming to a rest in the middle of the barren street. Applying the brake and throwing the car into first gear, he then gave the engine some gas and the vehicle began to pull away from the kerb and towards the end of the street, the highway into town signalled at the very first junction. They'd only been driving two minutes, when Joanne suddenly spoke, not a whisper this time, more of a confident tone in her approach.

"Why do you insist on calling these kids cast offs?" She asked innocently, her burgundy sweater irritating her neck slightly, the broach on the neck pulling unevenly to one side.

"God dammit, not this again." Phil slammed the palm of his hand into the steering wheel, Joanne flinching slightly as he did so.

"It's just every time." She retorted. "I'm not saying anything, but these children need a home. We're doing a good thing here Phil and I know that deep down they appreciate it, no matter they're attitudes."

"I'm not saying it as though I don't give a rat's ass about them Joanne." Phil turned to her as he worked his way through the morning traffic.

"I know you're not." Joanne rested her head against the window once more.

"It's just you know..." Phil carried on, his eyes constantly flicking from side to side, the road ahead receiving the majority of his attention. "When we started doing all this, it was with the intention of getting our own child Joanne! 'Our own' child. Adoption, not fostering. But what do we get? Every time. Fostering here, fostering there. Every time we mention adopting it's the brush off."

"You're not saying anything I haven't thought myself." Joanne turned to him and spoke.

"It just gets..." He struggled for the word. "... Irritating I guess."

"So what are you saying? Your heart isn't in this anymore?" Joanne seemed unsurprised.

"No, not at all." Phil answered, signalling quickly before changing lanes, swinging the car into the upcoming turn.

"Well that's how it sounds."

"Well it's not how I intend it to sound." He backed down a touch, straightening the car, the atmosphere beginning to get heated.

"So...?" Joanne returned her eyes to the road ahead.

"So what?" Phil replied.

"Is this why you've been like this all week?" She asked.

"Like what?" Phil's eyes widened, shock in his tone.

"Ever since Grace called about this boy, you've been moping, short tempered." Joanne's voice began to raise. "Is this really an environment for bringing any child into?"

"I don't know what you're talking about!" Phil shot back.

"It just seems your mind's already made up. I mean you haven't even asked his name. Aren't you interested?" Joanne's voice sounded strained and hoarse.

"Of course I am, it's just you know... Things at work, then this. Then all plans of adopting seem to be going out the window. I mean face it Joanne, we're not getting any younger. How long until they pull the plug entirely? Then it'll be "Nope, sorry, you're too old for adoption, you're almost at retirement age." Then what huh?"

"Look." Joanne's hands immediately raised in front of her, an effort to calm the volatile atmosphere inside the station wagon. "Whatever happens, happens. We both knew this when we agreed to the fostering plan."

"I know." Phil sighed. "I'm sorry honey, I just don't seem to be able to take this shit as well as you do. Look at you."

He reached over and placed his index finger underneath her chin, lifting her head towards him as he smiled.

"His name's Andy." Joanne whispered, her voice cracking as a tear rolled down her cheek.

"Andy?" Phil smiled wider. "He sounds great."

"He's been through the ringer by the sounds of things." A concerned, yet relieved look crossed Joanne's face.

"Yeah?" Phil asked, his eyes still monitoring the road as he drove. "How so?"

"I don't know exactly, Grace wouldn't go into detail." Joanne flicked the hair from her face. "Said she'd fill us in when we got there."

"She didn't say anything at all?" Phil asked as they approached the turn off for midtown.

"She told me he was about eight years old. Some traumatic event from a while back, his mother's been taken into custody."

"Prison?" Phil asked, already having misgivings about this 'Andy' kid.

"No, psychiatric treatment from what I could make out." Joanne answered, turning to see Phil breathe a sigh of relief.

"I don't know which is worse. A convict or a psychopath." Phil laughed.

"He'll be fine." Joanne spoke softly once more. "I know he will, we can help him."

"Well I hope so." A tone of uncertainty rippled through Phil's words, and Joanne knew how sceptical he was already. Quickly, she tried to change the subject, the last thing she needed was Phil making his mind up prematurely.

"What do you think to Kyle?" She asked, her voice sounding perkier.

"What is there to think?" Phil asked with a chuckle. "She goes out without telling us, comes in whenever she wants, doesn't listen to a damn word we say and I swear to god she's smoking in that room of hers."

"Oh cut her some slack Phil." Joanne laughed. "You're telling me you were the perfect child? You were never rebellious?"

"Not 'that' rebellious." He laughed.

"She's okay." Joanne reached forward and played with the radio, the stations tuning in slightly before tuning out almost instantly.

"She's no trouble." Phil answered back, his tone becoming serious. "It's just the attitude I find hard to put up with. That'd been me at that age, I'd have gotten the belt from my old man."

Still fiddling with the dials of the radio, Joanne sat back and held up her hands in frustration.

"I thought you'd fixed this." She asked.

"So did I." Phil reached over and tried the dials, his brow furrowing as the stations sparked up before suddenly disappearing again.

"Just leave it." Joanne reached over and turned the radio off, the lights dying as she twisted the knob.

"Well, I can't deal with it now honey. Bit hard with driving and all."

"I know." She suddenly sat forward and motioned. "Go this way!"

"What?" Phil asked in alarm.

"Trust me." Joanne said. "There's road works up ahead, we can cut through here."

"But it's an industrial estate." Phil asked as he signalled, waiting for the oncoming traffic to pass before turning into the industrial estate, factories and warehouses in every direction.

"Trust me." Joanne confidently spoke. "Hang a left right down at the bottom and it brings you out near the centre."

"I hope so." Phil's eyes narrowed as the car hurtled through the estate, wagons, flatbeds and juggernauts a blur as they raced past the small ford.

"Look at the size of that place!" Joanne gestured, pointing through her window, the corrugated silver and blue factory buried deep in the huge parking lot, cars as far as the eye could see.

"Play Pals?" Phil asked without so much as a second glance.

"Is that what it is?" Joanne asked as her eyes stayed fixed on the building, smoke unfurling from the chimney stack.

"Yep. The amount of things we have from that place, I figure I should retire and buy stock." Phil laughed.

As the car sped past the entrance, Joanne found it impossible to look away, her eyes unable to leave the gargantuan facility, the intimidating presence sending a shudder through her shoulders as she felt a coldness creep over her body.

"Not be long honey." Phil grabbed her knee as the car slowed at the bottom of the estate, coming to a halt at the junction. Jumping at the touch of her husband, Joanne turned, her attention snapping from the factory as she flashed him a reassuring smile before returning her eyes to the factory. Slowly Phil pulled away from the junction, swinging the car to the left as Joanne's eyes followed the factory, now disappearing behind the couple as the car picked up speed and headed towards the crisis centre. The silence broken as Phil spoke again.

"Almost there." He said, his attitude now oozing with positivity. "With a bit of luck, you, me, Kyle and Andy will be having fun by the end of the day."


	10. Chapter 2-5

Chapter 2.4b

10:08am

The knock on the door came loud and clear, finishing almost as abruptly as it had began. Slowly and nervously crossing the bedroom, the young boy grabbed the door handle and blinked back any apprehension regarding what may lurk beyond. Twisting and turning, pulling the door inwards, the child's fears were unfounded as the face before him swooped to eye level and grinned broadly.

"Hey Andy!" Jason's wide smile causing his bead to part, exposing a sea of teeth. If anybody in this place could make Andy feel better without necessarily doing anything then this was the guy, his bald head flanked either side by a short, yet thick, main of dark hair. The stubble sweeping across his chin, his face perfectly offset by the larger than normal, round glasses.

"Hi." Andy smiled as Jason's face neared his.

"You ready?" Jason asked as he clapped the palms of his hands against his knees and motioned over his shoulder with his eyes, Andy nodding as he stepped through the heavy wooden door and pulled it closed behind him.

"I guess." Andy answered as the pair began to walk, the corridor ahead seeming to stretch infinitely into the distance. "What's happening again?"

"We're just gonna have a little talk. Maybe play a game of cards." Jason turned, almost walking backwards. "You like cards don't ya?"

Andy nodded, the nerves not subsiding completely, but a calming effect getting stronger every second.

"So how you sleep last night?" Jason asked returning to face forward. "From what I hear you've not had a decent night's sleep since you got here."

"I did okay." Andy replied, a ripple of laughter spreading from his lungs, forced back down his throat at the last second as he observed the tiny ponytail adorning the back of Jason's head. Walking faster to keep up with Jason, the two turned a corner only to be greeted by another corridor, this one also stretching on and on.

"Well that's good. You look better than you did last week any way." Jason's voice had an enthusiasm streaked throughout.

"I feel better." Andy smiled.

"You know if you wanna talk about it, I'm always here." Jason turned his head and addressed his waist high companion once more. "I mean, you know where my office is right?"

Andy nodded again.

"It's okay." He answered. "The less I talk about things, the better they seem to get. If that makes any sense..."

"That makes perfect sense Andy." Jason continued. "You talked about it with any of the other kids?"

"No!" Andy instantly shot back, Jason's words shot down in an instant.

"You know they may be able to help too. Maybe something they could relate to."

"I mentioned it once, and they didn't think I was telling the truth." Andy face dropped to the floor as he kept up with Jason.

"Well..." Jason sighed as he stopped and pulled open a door, his free arm sweeping across his waistline, gesturing for Andy to make his way through. "I guess that's to be expected. I mean, it was a heck of a story Andy."

"The last time I told any of the other kids about it, they started making fun of me and beating me up." Andy stopped as Jason made his way through the door, the wood slamming in the doorframe behind him.

"I see." Jason seemed lost for words as Andy's face twisted in confusion.

"After everything that's happened, I figure its best I keep my mouth shut."

"I understand Andy, seriously I do." They walked on, stopping after only a few yards as Jason yanked yet another door open and motioned Andy inside. Entering the room, Andy noticed the walls, as he always did, the greens, yellows, reds and browns leaping out at him as he pulled out a chair and sat at the small table. Toys were strewn across the room, bean bags in the corner to Andy's right as he took a seat. The pictures tacked to the walls had been there ever since Andy arrived, a stark reminder of some of the many faces to pass through Midtown Children's Crisis Centre. Grabbing the pack of cards sat neatly on the corner of the table, Andy picked them up and began to slowly shuffle them, waiting patiently as Jason closed the door and picked up a few stray toys, placing them back on the shelves beside the door. To Andy's left, he couldn't help notice the mirror taking up the majority of the wall. Probably the biggest mirror Andy had ever seen, and he was sure there must be a reason, but he'd be damned if he could understand why somebody would need a mirror so big as he stared at his reflection and shook his head, his hair flicking out evenly across his face, almost covering his eyes. Without saying a word, Jason took his seat and sat across the table from Andy and clasped his hands together.

"You gonna deal or should I?" He asked with a smile.

"I'll let you." Andy pushed the deck of cards towards Jason and sat back, watching intently as Jason began shuffling the pack, quickly distributing the cards evenly between the two of them. Picking up the cards, Andy cast his eyes across his hand, the various sea creatures, crustaceans and fish smiling back at him, some with names, others with their respective colours.

"So..." Jason began as he peeled a card from the top of the deck, now placed face down on the surface of the table, resting between the two of them. "I here you had a scare a couple of days back."

"What do you mean?" Andy asked as he too leaned over and took a card, his eyes moving rapidly from his hand to the solitary card before placing it face up beside the deck.

"That woman, the one that knocked on your door? Did you forget about that?" Jason asked, reaching for a card.

"No. I just tried not to remember it, if you get what I mean." Andy replied, his eyes concentrating on Jason's hands as they swapped once card for another.

"I get ya. What exactly was it that she said?" Jason enquired.

"She told me she was a friend of Chucky's and started asking me questions." He explained, the innocence of youth flashing in his eyes.

"Wow. Like what? What did she ask Andy?"

"She was asking what I knew about him and why he was after me. She started to get loud, like she was angry with me." Andy repied.

"You know, everything that happened was in the papers don't you?" Jason laid his cards down on the table. "It sounds to me like somebody just wanted to have a little bit of fun with you."

"That was somebody's idea of fun?" Andy seemed confused.

"There are some crazy people out there Andy." Jason whispered, his voice low, a caring tone throughout his words.

"Like my mom?" Andy asked.

"Well..." Jason seemed taken aback, words escaping him on this occasion as he stumbled to recover his composure. "I don't know. Do you think your mom's crazy?"

Andy shook his head vigorously, a strong 'no' if ever Jason had seen one.

"And why is that?" Jason probed deeper.

"Because she was telling the truth." Andy answered honestly.

"But how are you so sure Andy?" Jason kept digging. "What makes you so certain?"

"Because I saw everything." Andy's face sat innocently as his lips moved, emotion seeping through his every word as he spoke. "I saw him burn in the fireplace, then come out screaming."

"Then what?" Jason continued.

"Then after detective Norris was hurt, I went to get a first aid kit and noticed Chucky was gone."

"Really?" Jason exhaled sharply as his eyes widened in false surprise. "And where had he gone?"

"He was waiting round the corner." Andy's voice was low, Jason straining his ears to pick up his words. "He tripped me up and came after me with a knife."

"Wow. That must have been scary" Jason sat back and scratched his head, not the first time he'd heard this story, but the eeriness still making him feel just as cold with every time. "And after that? Can you remember what happened after that?"

"That's when I ran into the bedroom and he chased me. He was screaming and all kinds a things."

"And what was he screaming? Was it bad?"

"I'll say." Andy took a deep breath and composed himself. "He was screaming at my mom and detective Norris. Telling them to give me to him and he'd let them live."

"Did he end up getting into the bedroom?" Jason asked.

"Yeah." Andy nodded. "But my mom grabbed me and we ran into the hall. That's when she shot him."

"Oh yeah." Jason nodded in agreement. "I think I remember you telling me that before. Is that when she shot his head off?"

"Yeah." Andy's eyes fell back to his cards.

"Wow. You know what?" Jason grabbed Andy's wrist.

"What?" Andy asked.

"I don't think I'd have been as brave as you." Jason smiled. "But you know Andy... Stress is a powerful thing. It's an illness. Sometimes it can make you think you've seen things. That they're real."

"But it was real!" Andy's voice picked up a notch as Jason held his hands up in a surrendering motion.

"I'm sure it seemed real Andy." He quietly spoke. "But do you understand why people didn't believe you and your mom?"

"I guess so." Andy backed down. "I don't think I'd have believed somebody telling a story like that either."

"I mean, to you, it was probably real. Like everything was actually happening, but the human body is a weird and wonderful thing."

"How do you mean?" Andy asked curiously.

"Well..." Jason began. "I had this patient, at the place I used to work? She would be telling me she saw angels all day long. But whenever she told us, we couldn't see a thing. Now she wasn't a bad person, and she wasn't lying. She was just confused, that's all."

Andy stared at Jason as though trying to work something out.

"Do you see what I'm saying Andy?" He asked. "Sometimes, what seems real to somebody, isn't quite right. No matter how real it feels."

"I guess I see what you mean." Andy smiled as his eyes dropped back to his cards.

The pair sat in silence for the next minute as they each surveyed the cards in front of them, taking turns to peel from the deck, swapping with the cards in their hands before laying down their 'pairs', the battle to see who would emerge with the most pairs well underway as the silence filled the room, all the while something still troubling Jason as Andy sat in abject silence. Andy seemed in a better mood today, fresh after what he'd described as a good night's sleep, but one thing remained, troubling Jason as he sat and studied, deciding suddenly the direct approach would benefit both parties.

"Andy,"

His voice was quiet, but loud enough to catch Andy's attention.

"You still dreaming about Chucky?"

"Sometimes." Andy examined his cards once more, not wanting to get into this conversation again.

Unbeknownst to Andy, on the other side of the mirror taking up the majority of the wall to his left, stood Phil and Joanne Simpson, their ears pricked up as Grace finished relaying the story of Andy Barclay and his mother, their supposed brush with Charles Lee Ray, the notorious Lakeshore Strangler, Phil beginning to have doubts, all the while Joanne feeling a confidence, a tidal wave of emotions as the boy sat the other side of the glass sat and talked innocently with his carer.

In Joanne's mind, the decision was already made.

What was the worst that could happen?

11:34am

Rolling over for the second time that morning and curling her fists into balls, Tiffany rubbed her eyes vigorously before yanking the covers over her head. The sunlight beaming through the curtains served only to irritate the slight headache she had woken with, the road works raging outside the crumbling apartment block adding to the hammering sensation deep behind her eyes. Taking a deep breath and allowing her fingers to gently work their way over the soft fabric of the bed sheets, Tiffany had enough, throwing the covers to one side and sitting bolt upright, swinging her legs over the side of the bed and standing, allowing the transition into a long and refreshing stretch to come naturally as she yawned long and hard. Approaching the window, Tiffany noticed her reflection in the glass, her naked body slipping her mind as she still fought to get her bearings, her mind still spinning from the broken night of sleep. Grabbing her dress, she slowly slid the thin, black material up her legs and over her torso, the short, tight fitting dress barely covering her slender figure. Slipping the straps over her shoulders and reaching beneath her arm pit, Tiffany zipped the dress up and slipped on her heels, quickly grabbing her leather jacket from the back of the lone chair and heading to the bedroom door. Stepping into the hallway, Tiffany smiled to herself as she began to slowly walk, treading carefully, silence filling the apartment, just as she expected. The door to Gabriella's room still hung slightly ajar as she passed, creaking slightly as she gently nudged it with her open palm, the comatose figure of Gabriella now wrapped warmly beneath the covers of her bed as she lay on her side, an arm flopping over the side, the needle still half exposed as it protruded from its resting place, the shadows of Gabriella's bedroom hiding a million secrets, but none strong enough to mask the evidence of constant drug abuse, the wraps and burnt spoons littering every visible surface. Suddenly a worrying thought crossed Tiffany's mind, her body instinctively taking a step forward, the heel of her shoe striking the wooden floor with a loud 'click' as she began to panic. Suddenly she froze, her fears proving unfounded as Gabriella took a deep, sleepy breath, a sigh of relief escaping Tiffany's lungs as she closed her eyes and instantly felt stupid. Turning and taking small, gentle steps Tiffany made her way back to the hallway and hung a left, picking up the pace and reaching the front door to the apartment in seconds, checking the pocket of her jacket and pulling free a fist full of ten dollar bills. All at once, she swung the door open and emerged into the breezy, yet bright and cloudless day, the wind whipping at her legs as a tornado of leaves swirled to life on the street below, greens, browns and yellows of every shade howling around the street in an autumnal ballet as Tiffany quickly, and in as dignified manner as possible, descended the metal steps of the apartment block.

One destination in her mind.

Wrapping her leather jacket around her waist and burying her hands beneath her arms, Tiffany spun on the steps of Reed's Adult Theatre and surveyed the scene behind her. The streets were pretty deserted, except for maybe the odd car, or the odd working girl returning from a nights work on the other side of the city. The wind still whistling around her, Tiffany pulled her hand free and once more hammered on the huge wooden doors to the building, the muffled cries from inside growing louder and louder as every second passed, the bolts residing on the opposite side of the entrance sliding noisily open as the voice muttered and spat colourful language, the words causing Tiffany to once more face the door, her eyes widening in mild surprise. Suddenly, the left hand door shot inwards, the darkness within blinding as Tiffany strained her eyes, a lone figure appearing in the doorway, hunched over somewhat and supporting itself on what seemed to be a walking stick. Narrowing her eyes, Tiffany waited for them to adjust, the voice sounding familiar as it spoke, half amused, half shocked.

"Well, well, well." The gravelly voice coughed and spat, those were forty a day lungs or Tiffany was extremely mistaken. "Tiffany Valentine... Whatever did I do to deserve such company?"

"Hello Dominic." Tiffany replied, smirking as the figure took a step out into the sunlight, the short figure of Dominic Reed hunched over his walking aid, his bald head partially covered by the faintest of comb overs as he looked into Tiffany's face and smiled, uneven teeth stained with years of alcohol and nicotine abuse.

"To what do I owe the pleasure my dear?" Dominic asked as he too surveyed the empty streets surrounding his business.

"Aren't you at least going to invite me in?" Tiffany asked as she lifted a solitary foot and tilted her head, Dominic never one to resist a damsel in distress. Flicking his head and turning to head back inside, Dominic began to creep slowly back into the darkness from which he had just seconds since appeared, offering a grunt as he beckoned Tiffany to follow him.

"So tell me Tiffany." Dominic began. "Is this business or pleasure?"

"I like to think a little of both." Tiffany answered wryly.

"Is that so?" Dominic asked as he stopped, allowing Tiffany to cross the threshold, entering the foyer of the theatre before swinging the heavy door closed and sliding the middle bolt back across and into its respective housing.

"You seem surprised." Tiffany laughed. "Business can be pleasure can't it?"

"You don't have to tell me that." Dominic laughed back, his eyes floating over every inch of Tiffany's exposed skin, his mouth watering. "Let me guess. You want me to get you on the big screen. Right here, nothing tacky, real top notch stuff."

"That's not exactly what I had in mind." Tiffany folded her arms across her chest.

"Don't think of it as degrading." Dominic began to protest. "Just because it's porn, doesn't mean it had to be degrading."

"Well, thank you all the same, but like I said, not quite what I had in mind." Tiffany allowed her eyes to glance around the foyer as Dominic walked past, his office door wide open in the corner of the grand entrance.

"Pity Tiffany." He waved an arm as she followed him. "Because you and me could make some serious money."

"I'll survive. But thanks anyway." Tiffany repeated herself. "It's nice to know I have options."

Entering the office, Dominic crossed the floor and took a seat behind his desk, the huge, intricately carved piece of oak taking pride of place as he sat in the seat hidden away behind it and motioned for Tiffany to sit, which she did, crossing her legs and wrapping her hands around her knees.

"So tell me then my dear." Dominic quietly spoke. "To what may the matter be, in which you require the assistance of myself?"

Tiffany's expression never altered as her brain worked to unscramble the code, giving up seconds later as her mouth moved involuntary.

"What?" She asked.

"What is it you require?" Dominic snapped, his voice louder and straight to the point. "I am a very, busy man."

"I need you to fix me up." Tiffany shot straight back, Dominic's eyes widening as he lifted the packet of cigarettes from the table and set about removing one, placing it between his blistered lips and sucking the acrid mixture back as he held the naked flame of his lighter to the tip.

"I see." He eventually answered, his breath thick with the smell of smoke. "And what makes you so sure I can be of assistance?"

"Never had any trouble before." Tiffany hissed.

"That was years ago." Dominic calmly replied. "It's been a long time Tiffany. People change."

"Not everybody." Tiffany sat back in the chair, her eyes falling on the walking stick now propped beside the huge oak desk. Dominic's eyes followed, also coming to rest on the stick, as both he and Tiffany returned their gaze to each other, Tiffany smiling as Dominic's face took on a painful expression, his hand slowly making its way to his knee, the scar beneath his trousers causing a tremendous pain to flood his leg.

"How's the leg these days?" Tiffany asked.

"Hurts now and then." Dominic replied, emotion missing from his words as Tiffany sat and listened. "Makes it hard to walk, as you can see. Especially in the cold. I never did get to thank you for that by the way."

"I did apologise." Tiffany smirked.

"You did?" Dominic seemed taken aback.

"Well, okay. Not apologise, but it was either a knife in the knee or dealing with Chucky. Tell me now, which was it you would have preferred."

"To be honest, I'd have preferred neither." Dominic smiled slightly as he spoke.

"Then you should have kept your dirty fucking hands to yourself." Tiffany leaned forward, her breasts practically hanging over the top of her dress.

"Point taken Miss Valentine, point taken." Dominic waved his hands and brought the cigarette to his lips once more. "Now please, enlighten me. What if I can't help you score your... 'fix'?"

Slowly, and without saying a word, Tiffany stood and approached the desk, her arms spread wide as she leaned forward and placed the palms of her hands against the heavily lacquered wood, leaning in as the bottom of her dress slowly rode up from behind. Speaking softly, her lips curled into a snarl as Dominic Reed shrunk in his luxurious leather seat.

"You either help me score..." She started, a mischievous grin crossing her lips, her eyes narrowing as she continued, leaning in further, her nose inches from Dominic's face, eyes fixed on each other as Dominic's brow gradually began to bead over, the sweat surfacing from the pores of his forehead. "... Or I take your other leg... All of it!"

Taking a big gulp, trying his hardest to remain calm, Dominic gently reached into the drawer to his right, the heavy wooden frame sliding along the runners as Tiffany cast her eyes south, the goods on display as Dominic removed his hand and slowly returned it to its previous place of rest on the arm of the plush, leather bound chair.

"Take it." He took a deep breath, his eyes not once leaving Tiffany throughout the ordeal.

"Good boy." Tiffany raised her left hand and gently patted Dominic's cheek, the cold, damp skin sending a river of repulsion arcing throughout her body as she smirked and dug her hand into the drawer, withdrawing the bags of heroin, the brown powder evident through the small, see through plastic bags. "You know it makes sense."

Standing upright and turning on the spot, Tiffany counted the bags, all four of them, and began her walk to the office door, her long legs striding out beneath her as she crossed the floor and pulled the door open, the dark foyer of the theatre awaiting.

"Tiffany..." Dominic called, causing her to turn as she passed through the door and into the run down entrance, dust visible in the air as the faint light of Dominic's office seeped through the doorway. She said nothing, simply allowing her eyes to rest on Dominic's chubby, seething, bright red face.

"Don't come back here." He calmly spat as his face remained one of stone.

Tiffany smirked, an evil charge rippling across her face.

"Ever."

Heaving open the heavy wooden door and returning to the brighter surroundings of East Garfield Boulevard, Tiffany began the short walk back to Gabriella's the wind still swirling around her body as she walked, her eyes focussing on the cracks in the sidewalk as she tried to decide the best way to approach the situation with Gabriella, knowing one wrong word, one false move could derail the years of hard work, so close, yet so far. Try as she might, there was no 'way' for Tiffany to imagine this, she would simply have to play it by ear and hope that all the pieces came together.

In the dimly lit office, cigarette ash now towering high in the thick, glass ash tray, Dominic Reed reached for his phone and dialled, bringing the phone to his ear as the line buzzed away, the crackle and snap as the call was answered bringing a smile to his face.

"Johnny..." Dominic grinned as he greeted the voice upon answer. "How's the leg?"

Dominic nodded as Gabriella's pimp began ranting, agreeing with the occasional grunt and laugh before suddenly cutting to the point.

"That's good Johnny." He beamed as he placed another cigarette between his lips, striking a match along the rough surface of his desk and inhaling the smoke as the embers of the tip glowed a rich orange.

"Listen... About that blonde chick you mentioned last night..."

Stepping in through the door, the wind outside picking up even harder as the smallest drops of rain began to spit from the heavens, Tiffany slipped off her jacket and headed towards the kitchen, looking at the clock as she entered to find the time had disappeared magically, her trip just a few blocks west taking up over an hour of her time as she slumped at the cluttered kitchen table, placing her bag on the battered, wooden surface before turning and suddenly jumping a mile. Gabriella stood at the kitchen sink washing dishes, the kettle whistling on the stove as she turned and flashed Tiffany a half hearted smile, the wrinkles in her face more evident in the daylight, make up flaking as she grabbed the kettle and poured Tiffany a cup of tea. Taking a couple of steps, her dressing gown wrapped tightly around her body, Gabriella set the cup down in front of Tiffany and flicked her thick, brunette locks back over her shoulder, returning to the sink and proceeding to carry on with the dishes.

"You look well." Gabriella quietly muttered over her shoulder as she washed, her eyes fixed on something outside the kitchen window.

"I got some sleep." Tiffany answered. "But then, I heard a noise. I thought that Johnny guy tracked you down."

"I see." Gabriella mumbled, her head dropping as she quietly laughed to herself. "I'm sorry if I woke you. But I suspect you know how I make my money. I work... 'strange hours.'"

"It's not a problem." Tiffany laughed back, the humour lightening the mood somewhat.

"Did you get up?" Gabriella asked, her hands washing the various dishes and pans on autopilot as she awaited the answer.

"Well, to be honest I thought you were being murdered." Tiffany's voice relaxed as she spoke. "So yeah, I got up to make sure everything was alright. As soon as I was sure it was I went back to bed."

"So you saw?" Gabriella doubled over in embarrassment as she smiled and threw her head back over her shoulder, Tiffany cupping the tea in her hands and sipping as her eyes wandered the room in an innocent manner.

"Just a little." She giggled. "Sorry."

"Is okay." Gabriella stood straight. "That particular client is kind of new. He calls at some very inconvenient hours, but he pays well."

"Oh, I get what you mean." Tiffany nodded. "How long have you known him?"

"About two weeks." Gabriella's voice grew louder as she spoke, the nerves that at first resided in her tone now flushed away. "His name is Max, he works over at the toy factory across the city, some kind of executive I think."

Tiffany's eyes doubled in size, her pupils dilated as she placed the cup on the kitchen table and let her mind race. Could this be? No, it couldn't, this couldn't be the same guy... Could it? This couldn't be a coincidence, the jigsaw gaining extra pieces with every minute as the last twenty four hours played out like some predetermined drama.

"You mean Play Pals?" Tiffany gathered her thoughts and spoke, remaining calm.

"I don't know." Gabriella answered, her back to Tiff as she placed dishes on the draining board. "I think so. The name rings a bell. But he's been under quite a lot of, what's the word... Stress?"

"I don't understand." Tiffany pushed further.

"He has been, how you say, very stressed." Gabriella turned briefly, her thick Cuban accent and broken English not something she was proud of, but she tried her best. "He calls here, and I help him 'relieve' that stress."

Giggling, Tiffany took another drink of her tea.

"And in return he relieves the stress on his wallet, am I right?" Tiffany laughed.

"You could say that I guess." Gabriella smirked.

Her mind sensing the opportunity upon her, the best way to play the situation escaping her, Tiffany found herself running on autopilot as she leaned back, the front two legs of the kitchen chair raised from the floor as she suddenly found herself approaching the subject head on.

"Listen, Gabriella." She spoke, coughing to clear her throat. "I'm not going to beat about the bush, I need you to do something for me."

"Oh really?" Gabriella chuckled over her shoulder as her hands continued to massage the bubbles into the cutlery, the dishes piled high beside the basin. "And what may that be?"

"I need you to call this Max guy and invite him over... Tonight." Boom, head on, now just to wait for the reaction, Tiffany knew the kind of girl Gabriella was, and she knew there was a chance this could lead to an argument alright. Hanging her head and reaching for a towel before drying her hands, Gabriella slowly turned, throwing the towel over her shoulder as she leant backwards, resting the bottom of her back on the kitchen worktop, reaching to her left and grabbing her very own cup, bringing it to her lips and taking a drink, all the while her eyes fixed on Tiffany's face. Then, as she lowered the cup, she eventually spoke.

"I'm sorry?" She asked, blinking her eyes rapidly and giving her head a small shake, maybe thinking she'd misheard.

"I need you to call him. Get him over here. Tonight." Tiffany repeated herself.

"No." Gabriella shook her head, her face solemn, her eyes never leaving her guest as she placed the cup beside her on the kitchen worktop.

"Please." Tiffany asked as she placed her own cup on the table, leaning forward and fixing Gabriella a sympathetic look, but still the answer remained negative.

"No." Gabriella shook her head again. "Do you think I'm stupid?"

"I'm sorry?" Tiffany asked, her turn to be confused.

"I know what is going on here." Her tone now carrying an air of anger. "You see us last night? You see... 'him'? You see the nice clothes, nice car and think you can muscle in, maybe he prefer an 'all American' girl, all blonde hair, big tits and no brain. Well no, you are not stealing this man from me, especially when he is such a good payer."

Rolling her eyes, Tiffany leaned backwards once more in her chair and folded her arms across her chest.

"Oh please." She started. "Trust me, I'm not interested in snatching your precious meal ticket from under your nose. Besides which sweetface, I'm not what you'd call a 'working girl'."

Gabriella's eyes narrowed, washing over Tiffany's body, from the points of her heels, over the short, tight dress and eventually coming to a halt as she reached the tips of her bleached blonde hair.

"Are you sure?" Gabriella asked with a hiss. "You dress like one."

Tiffany had to laugh, the atmosphere turning suddenly bitchy.

"Very cute." Tiffany's face dropped stony, her eyes never once leaving Gabriella's face. "I'm going to ask nicely, one final time. Call Max. Invite him over tonight."

"Again, the answer is no." Gabriella shook her head once more. "I will never call him, especially not while you're here."

"Oh I wouldn't be so sure." Tiffany reached into her bag now resting beside her, pulling free a couple of the bags recently liberated from the office of Dominic Reed, the heroin inside immediately catching Gabriella's eyes. "I'm sure you can be persuaded."

It was amazing the speed at which Gabriella crumbled, Tiffany shocked at the way her hands immediately began to tremble, sweat breaking out all over her body as she slammed the cup of tea down on the kitchen surface and muttered something under her breath, all the while her eyes fixed on the bag and the murky brown powder resting inside.

"What is it you want with him?" She asked Tiffany. "Tell me that much at least."

"Only to talk." Tiffany answered.

"That is all?" She asked again.

"I promise." Tiffany once again reassured her.

"Why?" Gabriella queried.

"I have my reasons."

"And they are?"

"They're 'my' reasons."

"No dice then." Gabriella instantly recoiled, turning her back on both Tiffany and the drugs, her sweating palms slamming into the kitchen worktop.

"If you must know, it's that factory." Tiffany spoke softly. "I need to get in there, they have something that interests me."

Gabriella spun back around, laughing as she did so.

"Then take the tour, like the rest of the city." The laughter rippled through the apartment as her voice grew louder.

"Not good enough." Tiffany answered, her face still straight. "I need security clearance, the kind only somebody like your precious Max has."

All at once, Gabriella's face changed, a wondrous look taking shape as she looked from Tiffany, to the heroin, then back to Tiffany.

"How do you know about the drugs?" She asked, her mind racing.

"I saw you. Last night, you couldn't do it fast enough." Tiffany replied as Gabriella let out a long, agonising sigh.

"Why do you think I owe you this?" Her voice breaking as she crumbled further, dropping into the wooden chair, now finding herself sat opposite Tiffany at the kitchen table.

"Call it repayment, maybe for me helping you out with that psychopath last night."

Laughter once more reverberated around the apartment as Gabriella threw her head back.

"Excuse me? Didn't I give you a room for the night? I'd say we were more than even." She retorted with a vicious snarl.

"Well to be honest, I'd say one of us is more even than the other." Tiffany's tone was now tired, exhaustion taking over as she pulled the plastic bags back towards her, the scraping sound driving Gabriella crazy as she slowly teased. Without saying a word, Gabriella's hand shot out and grabbed Tiffany by the wrist, the grip tight, almost vice like.

"I will do it." She whispered. "If you only want to talk, then I will do it."

Tiffany stood, breaking free of Gabriella's grip as she made her way to the phone placed on the kitchen wall, the long cord hanging loosely below as Tiffany grabbed the whole unit and carried it to the table, setting it down in front of her host and lifting the receiver. Sweating profusely, she grabbed the phone and began dialling, her hands trembling with every press of the buttons, her body perspiring as she shook, waiting impatiently for the answer at the other end, jumping suddenly as Max answered. It was fair to say that the phone call wasn't entirely appreciated, Gabriella's head dropping as Max berated her. Tiffany couldn't hear the whole conversation as she returned to her seat, but it started with Gabriella apologising for calling him at work, that she knew what had been said about that but it was an emergency. Her tone brightened instantly, Gabriella played with her hair as she spoke, her silk tongue working wonders as the distant muffle of Max's voice began to sound jollier, Gabriella inviting him over later that night, insisting that she had a 'very special surprise' in store, her eyes flicking to Tiffany as she stammered, momentarily lost for words before claiming to have a 'friend' that wanted to join in, that he should consider it a two week anniversary gift, on the house. Suddenly, the demeanour changed completely, Gabriella's face lighting up as she smiled and nodded her head, saying she knew he'd like that idea, Max agreeing as Gabriella insisted on asking him to fetch a bottle of vodka. Why not, she thought. Vodka was good, and if there was to be a 'party' by the end of the night, then vodka was the way to go about it. Saying their goodbyes, as Tiffany motioned to the phone and mimed, Gabriella quickly asked Max to call ahead so that 'they' had chance to prepare for his arrival, Tiffany smiling as she dangled a single bag of heroin in front of Gabriella's face. Slamming the receiver back into the cradle, Gabriella snatched the bag from Tiffany's grip and looked it over.

"See," Tiffany smirked wickedly. "That wasn't too hard now was it?"

Without saying another word, Gabriella stood, clutching the bag to her chest as she raced to her room, returning seconds later and emptying the contents of her top drawer across the surface of the small, dilapidated coffee table taking pride of place in the centre of the living room, dropping to the couch instantly as she grabbed her various peripherals and went to work concocting her 'fix'.

"I'm just going to..." Tiffany began as she stood from the kitchen table and gestured to the front door, unable to watch as Gabriella went to work, the water and powder mixing in the spoon as she held the lighter firmly underneath. Her mind otherwise engaged, Gabriella simply waved over her shoulder as she began to wrap the rubber tubing around her arm once more, the veins standing proud as she violently smacked at the flesh of her elbow. Without saying another word, Tiffany left the room and pulled the door closed behind her, the street outside calling to her as she opened the front door of the apartment and stepped out into the afternoon air, the grey sky hanging miserably overhead as she skipped down the steps and towards anything resembling a bar.

Time for a drink.

A large one.

8:45pm

Gasping, suddenly bursting into life, her body tensing as she sat up and found the dim glow of moonlight filtering in through the open living room window, Gabriella felt the confusion streaking through her brain, casting her head left and right, her hands shooting to her chest as she rushed to take in the fresh air, the room taken over by a cold chill as the wind whistled through the open window and caused the creased, dirty curtains to ripple under the force. She had been roused from her temporary coma by a noise, burying itself deep in her head as she surfaced like a demon, her eyes thrown open as her pupils closed, the light hurting at first as she regained her composure and realised where she was. Finding herself laid out on the couch of her tiny shit hole of an apartment, Gabriella let her feet drop to the floor as her body swivelled, her head pounding as her muscles flared in agony. The ringing noise still echoing through her head grew louder as she hung her head in her hands and looked up, the drug induced hangover taking some shaking off as she found the source of the noise... The phone sat proudly on the coffee table, shrieking it's high pitched ring, similar to some annoying alarm clock as she tenderly reached forward and grabbed the phone from the base and lifted it to her ears, rubbing her eyes as she groggily spoke into the mouth piece.

"Hello?" She groaned, the pulsating feeling in her head growing and growing.

"Hello Gabriella, guess who..." The male voice playfully teased down the line.

"Max?" She asked, her mind still off doing its own thing as she struggled to comprehend.

"That's right." Max laughed, her haze genuinely mistaken for playful small talk.

Shaking her head and taking a deep breath, fighting the urge to vomit, Gabriella's memory quickly started to return, certain sections surfacing quicker than others.

"You have the vodka?" She asked as the cobwebs began to clear.

"The vodka, the vodka?" Max seemed confused, his voice immediately picking up with an enthusiasm. "Of course I remembered the vodka. Two week anniversary, you think I'd forget the vodka? I know what that does to you."

"Okay, hurry up then baby." She blinked and lifted her head, yawning slightly as she let her free arm droop across her lap, the living room floor cold on her bare feet, her dressing gown wide open, her bare breasts and pyjama pants modestly displayed. "We can't wait to get started."

"Okay," Max quickly answered, the noise of passing cars leaping from the ear piece. "Well wait for me!"

"We will. Hurry up." Gabriella insisted as she took another deep breath and quietly coughed.

"On my way." Max replied, giddiness evident in his voice.

"Hurry." Gabriella once more insisted as she removed the phone from her ear and began to set it down.

"Yeah." Max answered as he too replaced the car phone back in the holster, the distant blinking of the liquor stores sign attracting him as he wondered where the fuck he was to get a bottle of vodka from at this time, the Good Guy doll on the rear seat now sat up, listening intently...

Hanging up and rubbing her eyes once more, Gabriella threw her head back and felt the bones and ligament inside her neck crunch with a sick, yet satisfying, grinding sensation as she opened her mouth to shout Tiffany, the words beginning to come out as something suddenly looped over head and came to a rest around her neck, immediately yanked tight as the flow of air became drastically reduced. Grasping at her neck frantically, her long well manicured nails sinking into the cold, soft flesh Gabriella tried to lever the material away from her skin, her brain panicking as she tried in vein to draw breath. Throwing her head forward in confusion, Gabriella found herself trying to stand as she immediately fell backwards, the strength of her attacker pulling her back every time, Gabriella trying everything to fight off the unknown assailant as she threw her head back again, hoping to make contact of some kind, maybe stun this person into loosening their grip at least. Again her efforts proved fruitless as she clawed at the substance, soft, yet lethal against her skin, her neck beginning to drip in a sticky, yet slippery fluid Gabriella correctly guessed to be her own blood, her finger nails digging deep into her own skin as she tried anything to break free. The weapon clamped tight, restricting her breathing felt familiar, with a rubbery feel, stretching as the person behind her pulled harder and harder but never feeling like snapping or breaking. Gabriella knew what this material was, as the touch became familiar, her head starting to feel dizzy from the lack of oxygen. This same material had so often been clamped around Gabriella's body, just not her neck. The tubing from her drawer began to rub as she shook her head and violently struggled, her arms flailing as the intruder dodged every attempt at escaping their clutches. Finding a large reserve of strength and drawing on it as her final effort, Gabriella mustered the energy to stand, feeling the tubing tighten as her attacker twisted it around her neck pulling harder and harder still as Gabriella fought on, reaching her feet and glancing in the mirror, Tiffany's face twisted in pure, unbridled rage as she yanked harder, Gabriella's eyes beginning to bulge from her sockets with every bit of pressure Tiffany applied, her face bright red as she began to feel the room go darker and darker still, her body going into shock as her lungs became starved, the moonlight flowing in from outside and illuminating her living room with a beauty she had never noticed before as the corners of her vision began to darken. One final thought ocurred, as Gabriella heard Tiffany grunting behind her, her arms lacking the strength to claw at her neck anymore, the blood now drying on her finger nails and giving them a tacky feeling as her body fell numb. She was amazed at how quiet it was. Tiffany's sporadic grunts of pleasure and effort were the only sound, barring the odd piece of furniture moving along the floor as they bumped around the room. Then, as she dropped to her knees, Tiffany standing above her and giving one final pull on the tubing, Gabriella let go, darkness surrounding her as her entire body fell numb.

It was a good few minutes after Gabriella had dropped to her knees and finally ceased movement, that Tiffany figured it was a good time to let go, Gabriella's flaccid corpse now held up only by the rubber tubing wrapped so vigorously around her neck. Taking a deep, calming breath, Tiffany finally released both hands of the murderous appliance and flinched ever so slightly at the sickening thud as Gabriella's face hit the ground, the body completely still as Tiffany stepped over and to the window, her heels the only noise in the room as she tried to quietly cross the room, looking through the living room window and out into the street below. She figured she had a good half an hour before Max arrived, but decided against cleaning up the body and resulting mess, choosing to simply wait for the knock on the door and simply entice Max in with the promise of Gabriella awaiting him in the bedroom. The thought occurred for her to simply move Gabriella into the bedroom and arrange the body so max would be taken completely by surprise, the dramatic effect maybe helping liberate the information much quicker. But in the end, Tiffany simply left Gabriella where she lay, turning from the window and stepping over the body once more towards the couch. Kicking off her heels and slumping to the soft cushion of the couch, Tiffany curled her feet underneath her body and grabbed the remote control, firing the TV into life and beginning to flick through the channels.

Not long now.

Not long at all.

September 20th 1990

7:58am

Sunlight...

What the fuck...?

Opening her eyes, still sat in the same position, the remote face down on the living room floor, Tiffany quickly jumped up, her legs dead from the hours of being cramped beneath her body, the lack of blood making it take time for feeling and movement to return as she sat on the room floor besides the pale blue corpse of Gabriella, the small pool of coagulated blood around the neck area soaking into the bare floor boards throughout the night. Spinning her head and glancing into the kitchen, Tiffany saw the time on the clock. Almost 8 AM, dammit. There wasn't much of an inquest to be had, she'd fallen asleep, but at what time? She last looked at the clock and found it to be the early hours of the morning, but where the fuck was this Max character? There'd been no knock at the door, no phone call, nothing at all. The only thing Tiffany could deduce from this whole charade was that something had happened to either put Max off, or some tragedy had befallen him, like a phone call from home. Feeling the sensation returning to her legs, along with an immense amount of pins and needles, Tiffany stood gingerly to her feet and shook her legs, the tickling sensation making her feel queasy as she slowly walked to the kitchen, the hammering at the door making her spin half circle on the spot, the letterbox flapping as the voice on the other side yelled through.

"GABRIELLA!" The call came loud and clear, Tiffany recognising the voice in a heartbeat.

Johnny, Gabriella's pimp.

"GABRIELLA OPEN THIS FUCKING DOOR YOU STUPID PIECE OF SHIT!" His voice raged, the volume alerting various neighbours as shouts were heard from floors below and above, the police on their way as Johnny was told to leave the apartment block, kicks reigning down on the apartment door, drowning out the pleas from various residents.

Thinking on her feet, slipping her heels and jacket on, Tiffany raced into the kitchen, her only hope, some kind of back door out of the apartment.

There was none...

Panicking and finding only a kitchen window nestled in the wall above the kitchen sink, Tiffany raced towards it, arms a blur as she desperately swept the dishes and cutlery to one side, the clatter of metal, the smashing of porcelain serving only to anger Johnny even further.

"I KNOW YOU'RE IN THERE YOU FUCKING BITCH!" He screamed between kicks, the pounding returning twice as fast, twice as hard.

Her heart beating faster, Tiffany climbed onto the kitchen counter and wrestled with the locks of the windows, the small handles stiff, seized in place due to lack of use. She pushed harder, the wooden frame of the window beginning to splinter as finally the lock mechanism gave a squeal and began to move, slowly but surely as Tiffany put her weight behind each push, the explosion echoing in from the hall as Johnny finally dealt the fatal blow to the door, wood splintering the hallway. All at once, the lock spun throwing the window open as Tiffany's exit on to the rear fire escape presented itself, teasing her as she began to crawl through, the remnants of porcelain cutting into her bare knees as she struggled through the incredibly narrow gap, finding her progress halted as a pair of hands wrapped around her ankles and began to pull her back towards the kitchen. Trying to spin and kick our at Johnny, Tiffany found herself fighting with thin air as she spun onto her back, her body dragged in an instant, skidding through the window, back along the kitchen counter and dropping to the floor, coming to rest in the middle of the broken plates and cutlery as Johnny circled overhead, an astonished look on his face as he realised this wasn't Gabriella, Tiffany's face seeming familiar as he cast his mind back over the altercation from the other night, the penny finally dropping.

"You!?" Johnny seemed puzzled, yet the anger never relented, especially as his foot shot out, missing Tiffany's head by a fraction as she quickly dodged out of the way, rolling onto her side and awkwardly jumping to her feet, a heel snapping free from her shoe and rendering her off balance as Johnny charged across the kitchen, tackling her around the waist as he threw her into the flimsy wall, the plaster cracking around her body as stars began to circle her vision. Before she knew it, Johnny pulled her from the wall, throwing her across the kitchen, Tiffany landing on her knees and sliding across the fragments of sharp, snowy white porcelain, scattered in every direction. Feeling the thudding, the slamming of footsteps, Tiffany knew what was coming next as Johnny once more charged at her, head bowed, a bellow of rage escaping his lungs as he raced once more across the kitchen, Tiffany's reactions slow, yet not completely useless as she instinctively reached for the metal frying pan by her side, swinging her body full circle, her arm arcing through the air in a blurring movement as she both felt and heard the sickening thud of the metal base on Johnny's skull, his body immediately falling limp as he hit the ground, blood beginning to pour from the dent, freshly made. And like that it was over, no sooner had it started, Tiffany had once more dealt the lethal force with which she had become so accustomed, her head now groggy from the force of her body hammering into the wall just seconds ago. As she stood, leaning on the worktop, she bent double and scooped up her heel, looking this way, then that, in the hope of some sort of adhesive, beginning to rumble through the drawers before finding a tube of crazy glue and removing her shoe, the glue taking a minute or two to work its wondrous magic. The apartment was a mess, the blue body of Gabriella only just visible through the archway between the kitchen and living room, all the while Johnny lay still on the kitchen floor. Tiffany was sure he was dead, but there was a piece of her begging her not to check as she slowly, very quietly took two short steps towards him and knelt by his side, checking for a pulse and finding none. Suddenly her ears pricked up, the noise in the distance...

Sirens...

Heading for the apartment door, entering the hall, Tiffany ground to a halt as she remembered the concerned voices of Gabriella's neighbours, no doubt still listening, still watching, observing...

Witnessing...

Turning a half circle and heading back into the kitchen, Tiffany realised there was only one thing for it as she once again mounted the kitchen counter and crawled across the draining board, the kitchen window still wide open, inviting her through as she fell with a bang onto the fire escape, the vibration working its way through the steel structure and causing the short ladder to break free from its supports as it rapidly lowered itself to the floor out the back of the apartments one storey below. The sirens grew louder as voices were heard over the roof of the building, shouting to the police as the sirens were cut, the screeching of tyres on the asphalt ending abruptly as various neighbours began telling them which apartment the disturbance had been heard from. Looking up as she descended the ladder, Tiffany found not one pair of eyes on her as she reached the bottom, her body wobbling as she jumped the last step and landed on her heels, her ankle almost snapping as she tried hard to keep her balance. Taking one last look around and spying the narrow alley leading out towards the front of the building, Tiffany brushed herself down and zipped up her jacket, the rain picking up as she walked, her hair and legs soaking to bone by the time she emerged into the crowd now gathered out the front of the building. Police were holding back the small crowd as their colleagues worked away inside the apartment, one of them returning to the concrete balcony outside the front door and speaking into his radio, the conversation blaring from the radio of one of the ground stationed officers, people gasping at the news. Two fatalities, the coroner summoned immediately. Throwing her arms across her chest and keeping her head down, Tiffany began to slope off into the overcast evening, suddenly remembering her handbag sat in Gabriella's spare room. Although no identification was in the bag, Tiffany had hundreds of dollars in cash that had now become the property of Gabriella, no doubt to be taken as evidence before being 'redistributed' through the appropriate channels.

Facing the prospect of no home, no money, and with nowhere else to turn, Tiffany walked into the distance, with not a soul thinking anything of it.

2:44pm

The hours walking, the trek into the city had left Tiffany cold and wet, the heavens never stopping with the constant downpour as she occasionally rested for five minutes in the odd bus stop, a couple of cars pulling to the kerb and asking if she required any 'assistance'. Another day then maybe she'd have seen that as easy money, her male companion unsuspecting until well after it was too late, as she ran a knife across his throat or simply sat atop him and placed her bare hands around his neck. Maybe Gabriella had a point about the way she dressed. But today was different. Today had seen all her plans, carefully thought out and deployed, come to a most undignified halt as years of searching, years of waiting finally passed by without so much as a whisper. Looking up into the crowds of people headed down main street Tiffany spied hundreds of umbrellas held skywards as couples casually strolled past, laughing and joking as they shopped, headed home, maybe even ventured out for a day in the city, good food, nice hotels, finishing with a date at the theatre. Tiffany felt the sickness and rage bubbling over deep beneath her surface as she fought of the jealousy, the envy, but mostly the anger at how her plans had come crashing down around her ankles. It was as her head was lifted for that one solitary moment that she noticed the news stand to her left, sat surrounded by a bustling crowd as people bought magazines, made small talk, looked over the headlines, the various sandwich boards displaying the hot news from all over Chicago, one in particular standing out, the blonde woman staring into the face of every person passing the kiosk.

It was Tiffany...

An old picture, but nevertheless there she was, the headline above reading

**'****GIRL SOUGHT IN STABBING'**

Keeping her head down, Tiffany crossed the wet concrete and snatched a paper from the shelf, flicking to the corresponding page and allowing her eyes to flit over the body of text. Evan was alive. She'd almost forgotten about him, laying there as Tiffany left the apartment, the name of Gabriella quickly scrawled by Office Harry Marsh her only lead as she fought him off, along with his friend Sam, before heading into the night. By the looks of this, the police had been called, a report filed and now Tiffany was reeling to find herself a wanted woman, her head spinning left and right as she panicked, thinking maybe somebody there right now noticed her. Luckily, nobody seemed to be looking as Tiffany threw the paper back onto the shelf and buried her head, her chin disappearing behind the collar of her jacket. Hands in her pocket, Tiffany began to walk away from the news kiosk, the department store entrance bang opposite creating a crowd of epic proportions as people stopped and started, bumping into each other as they entered and exit the store. Looking up to make her way through the crowd, Tiffany's eyes picked up on not one, but two police officers just a little down the street, resting and chatting on the corner as one of the men looked up in her direction, his eyes seeming to narrow ever so slightly as Tiffany ducked into the crowd and disappeared through the doors of the store, the cold wet street outside heaving with hundreds as she made her way across the crowded shop floor and to the escalators. Deep down, Tiffany knew not to panic, the chances of the cop recognising her probably in the thousands to one category as she calmly rode the automatic staircase, getting off and walking slowly through the electrical goods department, various tools and home accessories on display as Tiffany made her way through, the bank of TV sets on the far wall catching her attention as she headed over and investigated further. There appeared to be some kind of interview on the local news, the man speaking to the reporter indicated by WDOL news to be a detective with the Chicago Police Department. Grabbing the remote from the top of one of the television sets, Tiffany pressed the mute button and each of the twenty two television sets burst into life, the sound echoing throughout the department as the interview commenced, Tiffany having no idea why she had been drawn to the report, but something deep within compelling her to watch, to listen as the reporter pushed further, but then she saw it, as the name of the detective disappeared and the headline flashed up.

**'****PLAY PALS EXECUTIVE MURDERED'**

In that one second, Tiffany found clarity, the reason for Max Mattson's failure to show up suddenly loud and clear as she listened in to the interview.

"So detective Banks, what can you tell us about this case so far?" The reporter asked, Detective Banks clearing his throat and beginning to speak.

"All we can say right now is that the victim was discovered late last night by one of the local residents out walking their dog." He answered, the words rolling from his tongue.

"Do we have any idea what the victim was doing in this particular area?" The reporter pressed on, her voice cutting through Tiffany as she spoke.

"We're not sure right now." Banks answered again. "According to Mr Mattson's wife, he called her not long before hand and assured her he had to work late. There appears to be no signs of any forced entry on the vehicle, neither internal or external. So whether Mr Mattson voluntarily picked up or arranged to meet somebody, we're still looking into. We have checked Mr Mattson's car phone and found a couple of phone numbers on there from the time after he called his wife, so that's one avenue we're looking to explore in a little more depth."

"Are there any signs of another person possibly being in the car?" She asked without thinking, the detective's face frowning as he remained composed and answered once more.

"The only signs my dear, are the manner in which this seemingly innocent member of the public was viciously murdered." His voice seemed spiky as his tone tuned to one of disgruntlement. "The hands were secured behind the seat with a jump rope, while a plastic bag was secured over his face restricting the flow of oxygen, basically suffocating the poor man. Now we have a forensics team combing every inch of that car, but so far they are yet to find a set of finger prints other than Mr Mattson's. Now because we 'are' finding Mr Mattson's prints, this makes it very unlikely that the killer has wiped away their own prints after the murder. Which is very odd. Now we are hearing people jumping to conclusions that this may have been some kind of sex act gone wrong, but I think it's safe to say that this act goes way beyond anything like that."

"And how about the remarkable similarities to the murder of Office Harry Marsh just days earlier detective?" The reporter carried on, her questions failing to get the detective riled. "has it been considered that this may be the work of the same person?"

"I wouldn't have thought so." He snapped back, coughing to clear his throat once more. "The only similarity is that both men were murdered whilst sat behind the steering wheels of their cars. Apart from that there is nothing to link these two events."

"How about the rumours? That missing evidence from the Barclay/Play Pals case was found resting in the rear of Officer Marsh's squad car on the night he died?"

"I'm not entirely sure what you're getting at hear Miss..." The detective responded, reeling from the question as he tried to dodge the bullet fired his way.

"The evidence found in Officer Marsh's car being that same evidence reported missing by the current victim just the day earlier as the Karen Barclay case was thrown out of court. The 'Killer Doll' case evidence seeming to turn up in the rear of Officer Marsh's squad car? You're telling us there's nothing in that?" She pushed even harder, the detective visibly startled as he struggled to answer.

"Listen," He started, his hand attempting to cover the camera lens, the car in the parking lot being worked on by the forensics team in the background of shot. "Out of respect for the memory of Officer Marsh and his family, I really don't feel the need to make any comments regarding that. An internal investigation is currently underway, and until that were to be concluded then I think it would be extremely unprofessional to cast aspersions on a fellow officer, especially one with such an exemplary record as Officer Marsh."

"But detective, there are also reports of a Good Guy doll missing from Mr Mattson's vehicle..." The reporter attempted to butt in, Detective Banks having none of it as he raised his voice and finally clapped his hand over the lens of the camera.

"Now if you'll excuse me, we have an actual crime scene to attend to, and as you can understand, people in this community deserve we give this our full attention. Thank you." The officer released the camera, disappearing into the side of the TV set as the cameraman flashed back to the reporter, her small figure and incredibly dark hair accentuated by the illuminating smile as she reported back to the studio, Tiffany deciding enough was enough as she pressed the 'mute' button once more and cast the banks of televisions sets into silence, her mind racing as she tried to place the pieces together. That last question, the detective seemed to butt in and blank her as she mentioned a doll, a Good Guy doll... Missing from the car. The hairs on Tiffany's body stood and shivered as her body dropped cold, the voice booming behind her as people parted around her, a circle opening up as people gasped, the volume of the man's voice almost perforating Tiffany's ear drum and making her jump in shock, as she stood perfectly still.

"YOU!" The voice bellowed at her. "DROP TO YOUR KNEES..."

Tiffany stood still, her body stunned into shock, paralysis setting in.

"NOW!" The voice commanded.

Taking a deep breath, her body visibly trembling, Tiffany slowly dropped to her knees, one by one, the throngs of shoppers stopping to see what the fuss was.

"HANDS BEHIND YOUR HEAD!" The voice ordered again. "DO IT!"

Dropping the remote to the floor, the impact audible around the now silent electrical goods department, Tiffany calmly and slowly placed hands behind her head, the palms of her hands pressing up against her wet, cold hair as she felt footsteps approaching from behind, the ice cold feeling of metal on skin as the cuffs were clapped around her wrists and she was dragged to her feet without another word. Without warning she found herself being patted down, suddenly spun around and into the face of the two police officers from the street, one with his gun trained on her, the other speaking as Tiffany focused and allowed his voice to become something other than a muffled streak of noise.

"Tiffany Valentine..." The officer spoke again, sensing that she had failed to hear the first time. "You're under arrest for the attempted murder of Evan Carter."

And with that, Tiffany gave up...

What now?


	11. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

June 14th 1993

Stepping into the blinding sun, the heat hit them...

Sweeping across the dirt and rapidly climbing their bodies, the dust lingered in the air and began to choke, the thick mixture sucked inwards as the group of women struggled, as one, for breath. Coming to a stop, the ground crunching beneath them, one or two allowed their bags to drop to the floor, energy a scarce commodity as each woman looked at each other before examining their immediate surroundings. The courtyard was larger than they imagined, the mixture of tarmac and dirt beneath their feet lending it a rustic look as the chain link fence snaked its way around the perimeter, the barb wire curling, looping its way along the top of the fence, a stark warning to the vast population of Logan Correctional Centre that there was indeed, no escape. Turning their heads, the sweat beginning to bead on their foreheads as the group of women lifted their hands, as one, and shielded their eyes, the sun too strong as they fought off the blinding light, each of them turning to examine the noise in the distance, the screeching of metal vibrating through the air as the mesh gate was forced slowly open, the guard nonchalantly waving the bus through, the heavy, silver vehicle gleaming in the noonday sun as it slowly rolled around the courtyard, gradually coming to a gentle halt, the hiss from the brakes making the small group flinch as the driver threw the lever and the door swung lazily open. Neither of the women moved, the fumes from the diesel driven vehicle beginning to lend the air around them a thick, industrial smell as the engine noisily ticked over. Sure enough, the sound of screeching once more grated as the guards hauled the gate closed, night sticks and side arms evident as they casually went about their business, nothing left to chance, despite the all female population. As the sunlight rolled on overhead, the breeze suddenly picked up and offered a brief respite, the cooling wave of fresh air as welcome as an arctic blast as it fluttered through, before disappearing quickly and allowing the searing temperatures to once again grip the congregation of female inmates. Despite the rather happy undertones of the afternoon, a strong sense of anxiety and anticipation filled the air, Tiffany finding the tension unbearable as the sickness gently crept over her body and settled in the pit of her stomach, the prison guard talking to the driver quickly, asking him to kill the engine before turning and motioning for the group to stand straight, eyes dead ahead as the door behind the women slowly opened with a sickening click.

Show time... 

******One Day Earlier...**

The alarm buzzed through the corridor as the queue slowly started to move, the doors up ahead opening and allowing the daylight to filter through, the shadows dancing along the linoleum floor as inmates headed outside and scattered, each heading to different locations and amenities on offer as they sought to enjoy a rare hour to themselves. The plethora of orange jumpsuits mingled briefly as they passed one another by, no pleasantries, just simple grunts and twisting of the bodies as the sea of women parted, the concrete jungle beyond the gloomy corridors almost disappearing beneath the all female population of Logan Correctional Centre. As various cliques came together, as individuals head towards the exercise equipment on offer, a lone figure emerged from the darkness of the corridor and very slowly stepped forward, the sunlight causing her eyes distress as she gritted her teeth and narrowed her eyes, her forearm immediately flying up to offer some kind of protection. The blonde hair, held up scruffily by the only tattered bandana she had as her slender figure rested beneath the bright orange jump suit dispensed to every inmate upon entry to the facility. Feeling the heat from the glaring sun, Tiffany began to walk, the sunlight spread evenly over the yard as she looked for something to do, somewhere to sit, ideally out of the way and on her own. She'd survived this long with the minimum of friends, she was damned if she would start looking to make small talk now. As she walked, her sneakers scraping slightly along the concrete, she felt an arm suddenly swing around her neck, the shock causing her to jump as she twisted her neck, the surprise almost giving her a heart attack.

"Got ya!" The brunette yelled, the giddiness evident in her high pitch shriek as she grabbed Tiffany and pulled her near, giving her a hug strong enough to break her neck.

"For fucks sake Amy!" Tiffany gasped, a few of her fellow custodians turning to see what the noise was.

"What's up Tiff?" Amy asked, her gaunt figure and pale skin wrinkling as she smiled, the hideous row of cracked and blackened teeth proudly displayed as she bellowed with laughter. If there was an advert for the dangers of drug abuse, then Amy Kroeger was definitely it. Twenty two years old and hooked on meth-amphetamines since the age of eleven, life had not been kind to Amy. A procession of step-fathers and 'uncles' passing through the multitude of homes, each one had managed to somehow inflict a touch more pain with every visit, steadily stripping away at the innocence of youth as they each, in turn, added their own personal characteristic to the monster secretly looming beneath. The cheery disposition over time giving way to a rebellion including alcohol and substance abuse, Amy had turned to prostitution by age fifteen and committed her first murder by the time of her seventeenth birthday. Now serving life imprisonment for her part in what the media had labelled 'The Furnace Furore', Amy had settled in nicely among the 160 strong population since her incarceration two years previous. Rumour had it the police had lain in wait, an anonymous tip off implicating her in the ongoing disappearance of middle aged men around the South Chicago/Calumet Park area. The undercover cop, wired and followed by a series of unmarked Chicago PD cars, had managed to lead his colleagues to the recently abandoned South Works Steel Mill, the army of officers bursting in, guns raised, but too late, their fellow officer laying a pool of his own blood as Amy laughed hysterically before feigning surrender and leaping at an arresting officer and sinking her teeth in, ripping into the flesh and severing his ear from the side of his head. Lying open beside the murder scene, the furnace had been reportedly filled with the remains of over twenty two men, the bones of Amy's victims the only thing to remain after the brutal murder and robbery of the corpses left behind. Now as she stood before Tiffany, laughing, joking and hugging her tight, the only thing Tiffany felt was pity. The deepest sympathy for the person Amy Kroeger could have been, instead of the burnt out junkie now standing before her.

"I wondered where you'd gotten to." Tiffany finally responded, pushing Amy's arm away. "Haven't seen you all day."

"Yeah well..." Amy's eyes widened as her pupils shrunk rapidly, a smirk crossing her lips. "They had me doing shit in the kitchens again... Supervised obviously. I dunno what the fuck they think I'm gonna do right?"

"Better safe than sorry I guess." Tiff backed off a touch, she could relax in the presence of a cold blooded killer, she fell in love with one at the end of the day, but she hated when Amy freaked out on her. During the two and a half years they'd been cell mates, they'd had a couple of run ins, but Tiffany knew the signs now and when to back off. She could handle herself, but the drugs had ravaged Amy's brain and rendered her with some kind of gargantuan temper, with strength to match. When Amy lost it, you better be somewhere else. As Tiff found out early on.

"You have to come with me!" Amy suddenly reached for Tiffany's wrist, clamping her palm around the skin and beginning to drag her along, the pace picking up as Tiff felt the dust kicking up beneath her feet.

"What the hell Amy?" She asked in shock. "Where?"

"Just come with me!" Amy turned and smiled, the duo weaving their way in and out of the crowd of fellow inmates as the sun cascaded over the walls of the courtyard and hovered overhead, the heat sucking the moisture from the air as Tiffany struggled to catch her breath. As the crowd parted, people looked on, the Brockson sisters lifting the weights as usual, flanked by their entourage of underlings as they examined the scenes around them with little interest, guards patrolled the perimeter, shades covering their eyes, shotguns clamped across their chests as they steadily walked, casting an eye over the population and waiting, expecting, the next sign of trouble. Finally reaching the other side of the courtyard, Tiffany rolled her eyes, the small group of Caribbean women sat in the shade, the upturned crates flexing heavily under the strenuous conditions forced upon them as they laughed and relaxed, their raucous laughter stopping as they found themselves in the presence of Tiffany Valentine and Amy Kroeger. The air fell silent as the women examined the newcomers, anticipation thickening as they held their breath and waited. Amy was the first to speak, as Tiffany crossed her arms and stood slightly behind her. Projecting her voice towards the head of the group, Jeanie Robertson, Amy spoke with enthusiasm that had no place in prison, the sugar coated tones oozing with honey as she smiled and clasped her hands together in prayer.

"Jeanie..." She began, "How are you girls doing?"

The remaining four women directed their attention from Amy and towards Jeanie, collectively holding their breath as the head of the group opened her mouth and responded in a calm and friendly manner. Fifty four years old, weighing in at just short of 280lbs and with a reputation for taking no shit, Jeanie Robertson wasn't feared... She was 'respected' among the population of Logan Correctional Centre.

"Amy my dear." Jeanie smiled through a set of pearly white teeth as the smile wrinkled her face. "To what do we owe the pleasure my child?"

"I know you don't do this for just anybody." Amy started skipping on the spot, from one foot to the other. Tiffany's eyes fell to the floor in disbelief. "But could you do a reading?"

"Oh please..." Tiffany muttered under her breath as she threw head back and closed her eyes, the sunlight burning through her eyelids.

"I see..." Jeanie replied as she slapped her palms on her knees and surveyed the reaction of her friends. "For you?"

"No, no, no, nooooo..." Amy laughed, "For Tiffany!"

"What?" Tiffany lowered her head and fixed Amy with a deathly stare.

"Oh come on it'll be fun." Amy insisted as she grabbed her arm once more and pulled Tiffany to her side.

"You don't believe in such rubbish do you Tiffany..." Jeanie allowed a curious look to cross her face as she measured Tiffany's reaction.

"Not especially..." Tiffany began.

"Then where is the harm?" Jeanie interrupted, her thick Jamaican accent cutting the air like a knife.

"Let's just say I grew out of magic and voodoo dolls a long time ago." Tiff answered wryly.

"Oh come oooooon." Amy pleaded with her, "You might not get another chance. She's supposed to be really good!"

"Will it shut you the hell up?" Tiffany asked, pissed off, more so as every second passed.

"Yes." Amy replied with a grin, Tiffany pulling up a crate and flipping it upside down, taking a seat opposite Jeanie, eyes on the pair of them as a small crowd began to build.

"Please..." Jeanie held out her hands and gestured to Tiffany, raising her hands and feeling the warm, soft touch of Logan Correctional Centre's resident palm reader.

"Will this take long?" Tiffany asked, Jeanie looking up and laughing.

"What's the rush? You got somewhere else to be?" She asked, the odd snigger ejected from the crowd.

"Well actually..." Amy started.

"Shut up Amy!" Tiffany interrupted, cutting her off.

"Jeeze," Amy rolled her eyes. "So-rry..."

"Let me see." Jeanie turned Tiffany's hand over and over, her brow furrowing as she pursed her lips together and studied intently. "Oh my..."

"What?" Tiffany asked, the tiniest of interest in her tone. "What is it?"

"Well..." Jeanie raised her eyebrows and looked up from Tiffany's hand before returning her gaze, shaking her head slightly. "I see trouble. Lots of trouble."

"No shit." Tiffany smirked. "You think we're all here because we behaved ourselves on the outside?"

The small gathering of people rippled with, laughter, the odd passer by stopping and checking out the drama unfolding deep in the centre of the crowd.

"There is a man..." Jeanie continued, ignoring the muffled amusement, raising her free hand and calming the surrounding people.

"Isn't there always?" Tiffany asked as she leant forward, her hair softly falling in front of her eyes as she lifted her other hand and cradled her chin, a dry smile growing across her pale lips.

"You'd be amazed." Jeanie mumbled as she carried on.

Suddenly, over Tiffany's shoulder, she felt a hand, Amy's face appearing beside hers as she giggled and threw her arm around Tiffany's neck, pulling her tight, their cheeks touching.

"Give her a chance Valentine." She chuckled, her eyes never leaving Jeanie, concentration etched in her face as she thoroughly examined Tiffany's palm. "Trust me!"

Tiffany let her head return to face forward, leaning back a touch as a quietness fell over the congregation of people now stood, the silence deafening. Suddenly, out of the blue, Jeanie raised her hand, index finger extended as she softly spoke, Tiffany straining her ears to pick up the words.

"This man..." She started, blinking her eyes and giving her head a little shake. "... This man is not normal..."

"Oh really?" Tiffany pulled her hand away, Jeanie reacting quickly and pulling it back, her grip strong as a vice.

"Yes..." Jeanie nodded, her finger running around Tiffany's hand, the pattern repeated time and again, fascination taking over as her eyes widened. "There is a road. A long trip. A journey!"

"Jesus!" Amy gasped, her breath on Tiff's ear as she spoke. "Fuck me that's freaky... Right?"

"How so?" Jeanie looked up, Tiffany remaining silent.

"She gets out tomorrow!" Excitement laced Amy's words. "How did you know...?"

"Everybody knows..." Tiffany mumbled. "This is a crock!"

Whether she chose to ignore Tiffany or not was unclear, Jeanie lowering her eyes and continuing, her soft skin tickling as she once more ran a finger across Tiffany's hand, stopping quickly as she sat back a touch, remaining silent and stony faced.

"What?" Tiffany asked, curiosity getting the better of her.

"Nothing..." Jeanie smiled. An uncomfortable, forced smile as she returned Tiffany's hand.

"Wait!" Amy snarled. "What did you see?"

"What did you think, you saw?" Tiffany corrected her.

Jeanie fell silent again, the crowd edging closer still, tiny step by tiny step, the wall of people almost on top of the small group.

"TELL HER!" Amy snapped in anger, Jeanie's eyes flying from Tiffany as she gulped.

"I saw..." Jeanie started, Tiffany leaning forward in anticipation, Amy hanging from her shoulder, involuntarily following. "I saw tragedy... Sorrow... Much death..."

"Isn't that part of life?" Tiffany asked as she slowly rocked backwards, her eyes narrowing.

"Not like I just saw..." Jeanie shook her head, Tiffany feeling the vibration as she looked at her hand, Jeanie trembling as she kept hold. "This was... 'different'!"

Without saying a word, Tiffany instantly withdrew her hand and shot to her feet, Amy jumping backwards in sheer shock, stunned as her eyes shot from Tiff, to Jeanie, then back to Tiff.

"Tiff, what are you...?" Amy began, Tiffany throwing up the palm of her hand as she turned and started to walk, the crowd of orange prison attire parting before her as eyes followed her every move. She'd only made it about five or six yards when, suddenly, she spun on the spot, her fist curled in anger, her own finger shooting out as she gestured in fury to Jeanie, the large Caribbean woman leaning forward on her make shift seat.

"You listen to me you fucking bitch!" Tiffany spat. "I don't know where you get off with this shit..."

"Do you still play with dolls?" Jeanie interrupted her voice quiet and gentle in the air.

Tiffany fell silent.

"Be warned Tiffany Valentine..." Jeanie carried on, Tiffany still stood mid-pose, fist clenched. "There is another man, in this place. And he is coming for you..."

Tiffany was speechless as Amy turned on the spot, the words of warning no sooner leaving Jeanie's mouth as Amy charged forward and threw herself over the group of friends surrounding Jeanie. The next thing Tiffany knew there was blood, Amy in full swing as Jeanie screamed, a gaping wound appearing in the side of her head, the ear laying in the burning sun as Amy kicked it up a level. The crowd surrounding them kicked into action also as herds of people charged past Tiffany and joined in, crates thrown in every direction as the inmates began to attack one another in fury, months, and years of pent up aggression finally finding the release valve as a volcano of violence erupted around her. The alarms blared from all four corners of the courtyard as gates screeched opened, guards approaching, their whistles piercing the air as they came running from every possible direction, the crowd of bodies rioting around Tiffany, completely lost in the moment as she let Jeanie's last words play over and over in her head.

'Another man... In this place... Coming for you.'

Feeling the sensation of being watched, Tiffany slowly rotated her body and turned her attention to the watchtower in the corner of the courtyard, the blackened windows high up blinding as the sunlight reflected.

Standing, arms outstretched and resting on the desk beneath the window of the watchtower, Governor McComb cast his eyes over the chaos ensuing below. The blur of bodies, the myriad of orange jumpsuits, not an unusual sight as the alarm rang out around the facility, but something else had caught his attention. The lone figure standing idly by as disorder and bedlam broke out around her, turning and averting her gaze, perusing the watchtower as she lifted her hand to shield her eyes. Curling his hands into fists and holding his breath, Governor McComb willed Tiffany on.

A punch...

A kick...

Any excuse to extend her sentence...

But it never came, McComb's eyes closing, his head bowing in resignation as Tiffany simply turned her head and slowly walked back to the building, the riot in full swing behind her as she entered the darkness of the corridor leading to the cell block, the line of extra wardens and guards racing past as Tiffany stood to one side and allowed them through before disappearing completely.

There was only one thing for it.

McComb would have to pay Valentine a little visit...

Tonight... 

**That Night...**

"Tiff..."

The air remained quiet, the darkness of the cell creating a vacuum in which Amy's voice disappeared as quickly as it escaped her mouth, the silence broken only by the fidgeting sound below Amy's bunk as she leaned over and spoke once more, the springs of the mattress beneath groaning quietly as Tiffany tossed and turned.

"Tiff!" Amy hissed once more, her voice a whisper as she leaned further over the edge of the top bunk.

"For fucks sake Amy..." Tiffany sighed, rolling onto her back and taking a deep breath. "What?"

"I'm sorry." Amy's whispered again, resignation evident in her tone as she found her fingers tapping hypnotically along the frame of the bunk.

Silence. A pause as Tiffany cleared her throat.

"It's okay." She answered finally. "Really."

"No." Amy rolled over, her fingers working their way through her hair, cold to the touch and matted in places, dried blood bonding the strands together, the assault from the courtyard still visible. "I was stupid. I should have controlled myself. It was reckless."

"Just leave it Amy." Tiffany replied, rolling onto her side and tucking her hands beneath her pillow, the warmth of the cell sucking the oxygen as Tiffany lifted a leg and kicked the covers from her body, the cooler climate agreeing with her instantly.

"I just wanted you to know..." Amy's voice drifted from above, disappointment in her words, regret. "You know that right? I mean... You're out of here tomorrow... I just wanted you to know."

Tiffany swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat up, rubbing her temples as she began to quietly laugh, Amy hearing the movement and leaning over, straining her eyes as she smiled a rotten grin and laughed herself.

"What the fuck?" Amy chuckled. "What are you even laughing at?"

"I don't know." Tiffany answered, tears of happiness forming in her eyes as she lifted an arm and wiped her cheek clean, a chill creeping throughout the room as Tiffany sat exposed, her vest and underwear suddenly feeling inadequate as she felt the bunk tremble, Amy's legs suddenly appearing and dangling by her head.

"Man, are we fucked up." Amy laughed as her hands clung to the frame of the top bunk, her upper body flying forward as she bowed her head and closed her eyes.

"Say that again." Tiffany beamed. "What the fuck though? You really did a number on her."

"I know right?" Amy began to calm, her smile growing wider every second.

"Seriously though, what made you? Jeanie Robertson?" Tiffany looked up, the outline of her weathered cell mate faintly visible as a slither of light found its way through the cell door. "You know you're gonna have to watch your back from here on right?"

"Aah, fuck 'er." Amy gradually finished laughing. "She's the one that better watch her back."

"I guess." Tiffany sighed. "Better keep one ear to the ground at least."

The two girls allowed the silence to hang for a second before both bursting into hysterics, the ear torn from the side of Jeanie's face by the uneven teeth of Amy Kroeger had most probably found its way to a trash can by now, the irony of the situation lending a rich streak of humour to the conversation now taking place in cell number 146. Suddenly the girls flinched in shock as the door to the cell burst open, the heavy lock rotating in the chamber as the steel door swung on its hinges, the fluorescent light from the corridor beyond bursting frantically across the floor and sweeping over the girls as they sat, their heads turning immediately as their pupils shrunk in terror, the familiar silhouette standing proudly within the frame of the door. Craning their heads back towards their visitor, the girls blinked and allowed the stars to clear as they squinted into the light, their eyes adjusting quickly to the sudden influx.

"Ladies..." Governor McComb stepped forward, his hands placed firmly on his hips as he entered the dimly lit cell, two guards falling in behind, nightsticks drawn as they playfully held them across their chests, one of the guards smiling sickeningly as he stroked the length of metal clasped in his hands, the other remaining emotionless as he simply stood and observed.

"What the fuck?" Amy whispered, dropping from the bunk above and landing feet first, standing facing the door, all the while turning to Tiffany in surprise.

"Miss Kroeger..." McComb started as he took another step and allowed his hands to leave his waist, folding behind his back as he let his eyes examine the floor, speaking calmly, almost serenely. "That was quite a show you provided earlier. Very... Entertaining. Wouldn't you agree gentlemen?"

McComb turned to his two escorts, both men beaming as they focused on Amy.

"I don't know what you're talking about!" Amy replied, the venom evident in her voice.

"Oh I think you do." McComb took another step, pulling a steel chair from beneath the table nestled snugly in the corner of the cell, the legs screeching as he pulled, slowly. Without saying another word, he dropped to the seat and leaned on the table, his elbow propping the rest of his body as he thoughtfully stroked the build up of stubble resting on his chin.

"The fuck I do." Amy spat again. "You got no right in here 'Governor'! This is 'our' space."

"My dear, I'm afraid you're mistaken. This is 'my' facility, one that recently passed a very thorough government inspection with a rating of 97%." McComb smiled. "Now you see girls, some people would look on that as something of an achievement, something to be proud of. But not me."

"Oh yeah?" Amy laughed, Tiffany suddenly rising to her feet and standing beside her.

"Indeed, you see..." McComb paused, furrowing his brow as if to concentrate, the lines in his forehead accredited to the years of hard work, ass licking and brown nosing as he climbed the ranks of the prison system. "That missing three percent really annoys me. You know what I mean?"

"I can understand that." Tiffany chipped in, Amy turning towards her in confusion before spinning her head back toward the governor.

"So I've decided to try and remedy that." McComb looked up, his eyes flitting from one to the other as Tiffany and Amy stood side by side, a haunted look gracing both their faces.

"How do you mean?" Tiffany asked, sensing trouble. This time tomorrow she hoped to be laying between comfier sheets, eating food that was not only tastier, but healthier. Right now, she sensed danger... Danger that all this could be stripped from her in an instant.

"I've decided to have a clear out girls." McComb turned to the two guards, motioning with his head towards the two inmates as the guards began to step forward. "Get rid of any 'trouble makers' so to speak."

Taking a step back, Tiffany and Amy prepared themselves for whatever was about to happen, the two men grinning from ear to ear as they approached, both of them pulling back their nightsticks before fetching them down with a sickening crack as Tiffany turned and cowered, her eyes clenched close in panic. The scream reverberated around the room, echoed down the corridor as Amy shrieked in agony, holding out her arms in a last ditch effort to protect herself. Tiffany remained still, the noise escaping Amy's lungs sending her dizzy with sickness as another crack was heard, this time landing on Amy's leg as she fell to the floor with a thud, another cracking sound as the nightstick arced through the air once more and landed on the back of her other leg, the screaming now dying to a resigned whimper as Amy lay face down on the concrete floor of the cell, motionless. It took a few seconds for Tiffany's brain to make sense of proceedings, realise she hadn't felt the excruciating pain of the nightstick catching part of her body square on, opening her eyes and twisting her neck to see both guards going to work on Amy, the grunts of enthusiasm as they attacked over and over, blood beginning to spill across the floor as Amy's eyes glassed over, Governor McComb finally standing and clapping his hands together.

"Gentlemen, please." He whispered quietly as the two guards turned to face him. "Not here... Take her to the showers in the east block!"

Tiffany turned, nauseous at the site of her cell mate, broken and twisted on the cell floor as she screamed once more, the guards pulling her across the area of the cell by her broken arms. Fighting the urge to vomit, Tiffany fell backwards, landing on her ass as she backed herself into the corner, McComb now approaching calmly, his hands held out in a hushing motion. Feeling the cold wall suddenly upon her back, Tiffany stopped, her bare feet working overtime as she kept pushing, the dust flying from the cold floor as McComb sat on the edge of her bunk and watched as one of the guards released Amy's lifeless hand and closed the cell door quietly behind him.

"Come..." He patted the untidy bedding of Tiffany's bunk, gesturing for her to join him as he sat, his head turning back to her.

"No." Tiffany gasped, her eyes streaming with tears as she closed them tightly, anything to block out the image, the noise, the bastard sat on her bunk.

"Miss Valentine, let me assure you I have no intention of seeing you come to any harm." He tilted his head and fixed her with a sincere look. "I'm sorry you had to witness that but, like all good machines, this facility has the odd 'cog' that needs keeping on the straight and narrow. Now please come and sit."

Tiffany shook her head, eyes still closed as she felt the coldness all around her, throwing her head back and resting it against the solid wall.

"Listen, Tiffany." McComb tried once more. "Amy Kroeger is one of the sickest individuals I have ever had the displeasure of speaking with. Evil, wicked, malicious. Guilty, caught red handed with the corpses of twenty three men. You on the other hand..."

"What?" Tiffany hissed, her eyes opening, the tears filling up inside as she spoke. "What about me?"

"You're not a patch on her." McComb smiled. "Compared to Amy Kroeger, attempted murder seems pretty trivial doesn't it?"

"Self defence." Tiffany spat as she shot to her feet, rage burning within as McComb sat on the edge of HER bunk, untouchable.

"Please Miss Valentine, please." He moved up, gesturing once more for her to take a seat. Taking a few steps forward and keeping one eye on the cell door, Tiffany dropped to the bunk, the gap between her and McComb as large as she could possibly make it.

"It was self defence!" Tiffany mumbled as she leaned forward, her forehead resting in her hand.

"Your kind doesn't act in self defence my dear." McComb's eyes wandered around the cell, his hand shooting up as he pulled the cuff of his jacket back and took in the time on his watch.

"Meaning?" Tiffany asked as she turned towards him.

"I've seen your kind around. Not just in here, but on the streets too." McComb stared dead ahead as he spoke, the tranquillity in his voice amazing Tiffany. "The acts you carry out aren't self defence, they're acts if sickness, aggression, violence, you get a masochistic pleasure from seeing somebody else suffer, and this time tomorrow, you'll be free to act however you want once more."

Tiffany looked at him, the words he spoke hitting home, the truth buried beneath as he hit the nail on the head.

"Make no mistake, Tiffany..." He paused. "You will be back. How soon, depends entirely on you I guess."

"I'll never be back here." Tiffany shook her head, a determined grin crossing her face as she laughed at the very thought.

At this point, McComb moved rapidly along the bed, his body flying up against Tiffany's as she attempted to move, the end of the bed penning her in, Governor McComb grabbing her hand as she attempted to stand.

"Listen here you evil little bitch!" He hissed through gritted teeth. "I could've made your life hell on earth in here, but I didn't. Truth be known I could have you in here for a lot longer. It wouldn't take much for you to act out, I'm sure."

McComb's hand shot to Tiffany's knee, his palm grasping her flesh and stroking as he gently moved his hand upwards, reaching the lace of her underwear in no time at all as he massaged her thigh and spoke into her ear, Tiffany fighting back the urge to react as McComb's words became lost in the fear rippling through her body.

"I've played nice this last few years Miss Valentine, but no more." He hissed evilly, his breath warm on Tiffany's ear. "I've gone easy on you in the hope this time would be one of consent, but I can see that isn't going to happen, so now you have a choice Tiffany."

Her eyes slammed shut as she felt his hand entering her underwear, the urge to fight back unbearable as she clenched her hands into fists and screwed up the sheets of the bed behind her, his warm hands now beginning to play with her as tears streamed down her face.

"What choice?" She sobbed as McComb's fingers began to enter her, his voice quiet as he groaned a little, Tiffany trembling under his touch.

"Resist me... And stay a little longer." His voice was quiet, almost inaudible as he spoke into her ear, his face pressed up against hers. "Or say nothing and walk free..."

Suddenly the light of the cell flickered on, the room cast in a fluorescent glow of its own as the door rocked open, Tiffany thankfully able to clamp her legs together and cross them, folding her arms across her chest as she turned to face the opposite wall, McComb yanking his hands free of Tiffany's underwear and turning in a fit of rage at whoever had opened the door, probably one of his two cronies come back to ask some unbelievably stupid question.

"Can't you see we're busy for Christ's sake..." McComb suddenly dropped silent, Tiffany picking up on this and also turning towards the cell door. Standing in the doorway, a look of confusion and shock carved on his features, stood a prison guard.

"Governor McComb?" The young man asked, almost in disbelief. McComb stood quickly to his feet and headed to the door, the guard not moving as he approached.

"What is it Shepherd?" McComb snapped, throwing his arms across his chest.

"Is everything alright?" The young man asked once more, looking over McComb's shoulders, Tiffany's bloodshot eyes and tear stained cheeks evident on first inspection.

"Yes, of course it is." He turned to Tiffany. "Miss Valentine and myself were just having a quick chat. Last night and all, wanted to wish her well."

The guard turned his attention back to McComb.

"But it's late sir!" He half stated, half asked starting to shake his head. "You really shouldn't be down here sir."

"I know, I know." McComb nodded in agreement, stroking the stubble across his chin. "But as you can see, everything is... Fine."

"I guess." The guard responded, looking once more over McComb's shoulder and addressed Tiffany. "Miss, are you alright?"

Tiffany looked up, a look of anger emitted from McComb's face. Remembering his words, his threats, she smiled half heartedly and nodded.

"Of course she's alright." McComb laughed, throwing an arm around the young guard's shoulders, turning back to Tiffany, speaking as they left the cell. "Good night Miss Valentine, good luck for tomorrow and don't forget what I told you."

As McComb and the guard left, Tiffany could hear them chatting more, the light suddenly extinguished as the voices and footsteps began to fade. All Tiffany cold think of right now was how close she had just come to two abhorrent events as she lay down on her bunk and closed her eyes. Pulling the covers over her, she thought about Amy and what must be happening to her right now in the east block. She had wanted to say something when the guard had burst in, but the words wouldn't come. After all, the first rule of any place like this was simple. Look after number one.

Slowly, Tiffany began to drift off, the morning and her release not able to come a second too soon.

Hello freedom.

June 14th 1993

Now, as she stood in line with a small gathering of fellow inmates, Tiffany could taste her freedom, feel it almost as she stood perfectly still, the heat enveloping each and every one of them as the bus circled the courtyard and came to a stop before them, the driver throwing the door open and leaving the engine to idly tick over, the thick diesel fumes filling the air around them as the cool breeze kicked up a cloud of dust, the courtyard gate screeching to a stop in the background. The guard finished conversing with the driver, the engine falling silent with a twist of the mighty machines ignition, before turning back to the group of women and demanding they stand straight, heads up, eyes forward. As peace fell over the assembled inmates and staff of Logan Correctional Centre an air of anxiety filled the atmosphere as the door behind the women fluttered open with a sickening click, the guard before them standing to attention as Governor McComb entered the courtyard, stopping only to close the door behind him before composing himself and crossing the dirt strewn courtyard and joining his underling, his wiry figure turning to face the assembled group before him as his square jaw began to wag, Tiffany in the back row hearing only the muffled voice of the governor as her mind flashed back to the evening before, an unclean feeling laying heavy over her as she struggled to concentrate.

"Thank you warden." McComb smiled, his colleague standing to the side as McComb clapped his hands, rubbing them together as he began to speak.

"Ladies," He began. "Please, allow me to be the first to congratulate and wish you the very best of luck upon your release. Hopefully, since first arriving here at Logan, you've seen the error of your ways and found your transition into a law abiding, peaceful citizen a smooth one. Despite a few 'episodes', I think we can all agree that your time here has been one without incident."

He paused, clearing his throat before continuing.

"Now, you may have been looking forward to this day, as I'm sure you have, thinking 'this is it...', 'freedom...', but let me stress, to some of you, especially the ones on early release..." His head turned towards Tiffany, her eyes shooting to the ground. "That this is far from the end. Now each of you has been sent here for a reason. That reason, because of the splendid job this facility does of preparing you for life beyond those fences."

He turned, pointing to the perimeter fence, the barbwire curling and looping around the top of the mesh fencing.

"Now some of you may think your time here has been with only one goal... To punish you for the wrongs you committed whilst on the other side of those fences. In a way, you may be right. But the truth is far more than that. Here at Logan we don't punish, we rehabilitate. Each one of you has no doubt found that the skill shops and learning programs of this facility offer you an advantage. True you have a criminal record, but you also have skills, qualifications, something that will help you in your search for a better life. Hopefully a life without disruption, crime and abusing the law."

He stopped and placed his hands behind his back, his tweed jacket creasing along the shoulders as he ran his eyes over the small crowd.

"Let me stress..." Another pause. "Some of you WILL be back. It's not something I want, but unfortunately it seems to be fate. Inevitable that one or two of you will go off the rails, revert to your old ways, despite the best efforts of my staff and myself. Now as I said, this isn't something I want, and each year we like to try and help people integrate back into society as smoothly and as trouble free as possible. But we can only do so much, the rest is down to one person, and that is yourselves."

Smiling and standing to the side, the bus driver fired the engine, Governor McComb gesturing to the bus as the warden returned to his position and spoke.

"Okay girls, nice and easy. Front row, left to right, let's get a move on, let's go!" His voice stern as he barked his simple command.

One by one, the girls climbed the bus, Governor McComb offering a nod of the head and his best wishes for the future, some offering a friendly handshake, some offering no more than to return his nod of the head as they boarded their ride home. Very last in the queue, Tiffany just wanted on, she was in no mood for playing friendly games with McComb, especially not after the night before. As far as she was concerned, McComb could be lying in a gutter, flames erupting from every orifice, and she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of urinating on him. Soon enough the queue dissolved, Tiffany the last to board as McComb gave her a dignified nod of the head, his hand shooting out as she placed her foot on the bottom step of the bus, gripping her tight and pulling her close, sneering into her ear, his tone one of sleaze and disgust.

"I meant every word Valentine." His lip curled manically as he spoke, Tiffany turning her head and catching his breath in her face, recoiling in a repulsed manner. "You'll be back... Broken cogs don't work in 'the machine'. Sooner or later you're going to snap again, and when you do... I'll have you back here like this."

He clicked his fingers, the air snapping violently as Tiffany smiled.

"Until then, I'll amuse myself with one of the..." His pause lingered. "Less glamorous inmates. I'll give Amy Kroeger your regards."

Stunned, Tiffany returned the snap of the fingers, McComb flinching in surprise as Tiffany leaned back and shook off his grip.

"Do whatever you want sweetface." She hissed, a malevolent grin crossing her face. "Because the only way I'm coming back here, is if I sneak in and slit your fucking throat you filthy cunt!"

"You can't..." McComb started, Tiffany shooting him down in an instant.

"I just did." Her smile grew. "Watch your back... 'Governor McComb'!"

With that, Tiffany boarded the bus, the driver throwing the door closed and giving a little gas as the prison gate swung open and the bus started to move off, Tiffany dropping to her seat and giving one last look to the last two years and nine months of her life. McComb and his warden stood and gave the bus a wave, the sunlight reflected from the dark windows casting a flicker of light along the ground as Tiffany blew McComb a kiss and ran her index finger along her throat, quickly lifting her hand and flipping her middle finger in his direction as she gave a little laugh and turned to face forward, her bag resting on the seat beside her.

Next stop Chicago...

Freedom.


	12. Chapter 3-1

Chapter 3.1

Careering across the landscape, the silver beast purred as the nearby town of Lexington sat serenely on the horizon to the east, Tiffany closing her eyes and clutching her bag to her chest as the tarmac of Interstate 55 whizzed beneath the bus. The gentle swaying and calmness had begun to take effect long before now, but old habits proved hard to shake as Tiffany refused to drop her guard, the bus packed with assorted criminals, no chances to be taken as Tiffany cast her eyes towards the driver, the wire mesh and secure cage door the only thing separating him from the assembled motley crew just feet behind him. Muggers, rapists, murderers and thieves dozed and snored as arms and legs poked out from between every row of seats, the foul smell of unwashed flesh hanging in the air as Tiffany reached her hand aloft and flipped on the air conditioning.

Nothing...

"Fuck!" Tiffany whispered as she toggled the switch on and off frantically, the heat amplified as the sun blared through the windows of the bus, the air quickly disappearing within the rolling prison as it hurtled towards Chicago. Leaning backwards and partially into the aisle, Tiffany examined the window. No bars, no wire, but also no latch, all attempts to find a source of ventilation rapidly disappearing before her very eyes. Dropping her bag to the floor between herself and the seat in front of her, Tiffany twisted her body and threw her bare legs over the arm rest and into the aisle, allowing her heels to dangle as she stretched out, arms aloft as the short black dress slightly rode up her thighs. Checking out of Logan had proven to be a nostalgic process as her belongings from the night of her arrest had quickly been read from a list and presented before her in due order. Not that she was complaining. Her dress had been freshly washed and pressed and her heels remained in the worn, yet wearable, condition she remembered. Besides that her belongings had been very few, her smile lifting slightly as she reached for the bag and plucked it from the space between the seats, reaching inside and digging around. The paperwork she had placed inside had been marked with a red stamp. Probation documents, no doubt to be handed into the proper authorities as soon as she reached her destination, the next year and a half mapped out carefully by some desk dwelling stranger. Fumbling around, further, thrusting her hand into the bag, she felt something cold. Ice cold in fact as her fingers closed around the tiny item and pulled it free from the bag, her eyes lighting up as the small circular object came into view. Gleaming in the sunlight, the gold ring sparkled as the numerous rocks circled the substantial diamond at its heart. Her mind flashing back to the night of Chucky's death as she turned to the mantle and found the ring, her eyes streaming as his intentions to propose suddenly became clear. Deciding against slipping the ring over her finger, Tiffany dropped it back into the bag and pulled the drawstring, the opening to the bag shrinking to a close in seconds as she casually dropped it back into the foot well before her.

"Hey, Valentine..." The familiar voice causing Tiffany to snap her head to her right and take in the curvy, heavily tattooed figure of Selena Thomas as she came to a stop besides Tiffany's seat, sitting slowly as she came to a rest on the unoccupied row opposite. "You got a minute?"

"Depends..." Tiffany returned her attention to the bag, squeezing it beneath the seat in front of her.

"On what?" Selena leaned forward and smiled through plump, Hispanic lips, thick strands of jet black hair covering her olive shoulders as her t-shirt struggled to contain her voluptuous figure.

"On what you want Selena." Tiffany returned to a more comfortable position, resting her back against the bus window and folding her arms across her chest.

"Jesus," Selena stood and turned, beginning to make her way back down the aisle. "Don't worry about it."

"Sorry." Tiffany rolled her eyes and held out her hand, gesturing for Selena to retake her seat. Without saying another word, Selena did as Tiffany asked and took a quick look around, the majority of friends and inmates snoozing, their minds focussed on more important matters. When satisfied, Selena leaned forward once more, arms aloft and planted on the chairs now either side of Tiffany's frame.

"What you got planned?" She asked.

Tiffany's eyes narrowed as she angled her head, confusion in her expression.

"How do you mean?" Tiffany asked innocently.

"How do I mean?" Selena laughed and bowed her head. "What do you mean, 'how do I mean?' dumbass? Now you're out, you're free, new slate and all that shit."

"I still don't follow." Tiffany queried.

"For fucks sake Tiffany." Selena gasped, shaking her head. "What you got lined up? What's your immediate plan when you get off this bus?"

"I don't know." Tiffany answered. "By the looks of the paperwork, we're being met by a probation team. Probably see what they have to say and go from there."

"Yeah, yeah." Selena held her hands up, almost as if trying to remain calm. "I mean after that..."

"After that?" Tiff asked once more.

"Yeah." Selena's voice raised slightly as she turned and looked to make sure nobody had been alerted to the ongoing conversation. Satisfied that nobody had, she returned to a whisper. "You gonna give it a week? Maybe two? Then disappear?"

"Why?" Tiffany asked, surprised. "Is that what you're gonna do?"

"Might do." Selena nodded half heartedly. "Way I see it, their gonna stick me in some dead end job, away from the crowds, keep me there as long as they can. I figure I behave, maybe a month or two, the visits die down, I make a run for it, I get a couple days head start. A week at most."

Tiffany had to laugh, lifting her hands to her mouth as she did so, Selena's turn to look on in confusion.

"Why would you do that?" She asked Selena. "How long is your fucking probation?"

"I don't know for sure." Selena replied with a wry smile, casting her eyes cheekily towards the fabricated floor of the bus. "Parole board mentioned three years, something like that. Too long for me though. I need to get back to my girls, the quicker the better."

"You have kids?" Tiffany seemed taken aback, Selena's head snapping up as she giggled to herself.

"Not kids." She said. "Girls... Long story. Let's just say they've been 'earning their keep' while I've been in Logan."

"You're a pimp?" Tiffany asked bewildered.

"Among other things." Selena whispered, leaning in even more. "But enough about me. What about you? You need money? A job?"

"I think..." Tiffany stammered, Selena's proximity making her skin crawl. "I think I have all that sorted. Straight and narrow from now on. Can't live in the past all my life now, can I?"

Selena cast her eyes over Tiff's face, closer still as she began to shake her head and smile mischievously.

"Such a shame Valentine." She sighed, returning to a standing position as she twisted and stretched the muscles in the small of her back. "Could have helped each other out no end."

"Well if I ever find myself desperate enough..." Tiffany closed her eyes and let her head fall against the window, the vibrations reaching down her neck and into her shoulders as she took a deep breath.

"Your call." Selena turned and headed towards the back of the bus, her seat beckoning her as she walked. "Don't know what you're missing."

"I think I do." Tiffany sighed as she exhaled, crossing her legs and allowing her feet to dangle once more over the arm rest of the double seats, her heels hanging loosely as the bus rolled along. Folding her arms across her chest, the fresh fabric of the old dress felt like heaven as she allowed it to caress her body, the coarse prison attire now a thing of the past as Tiffany drifted into a well earned sleep, the town of Lexington now behind the bus as they careered along Interstate 55 and towards Chicago.

She must have only been asleep ten minutes, or at least that was how it seemed. The kind of sleep where she'd closed her eyes in the day, only to open them minutes later in the darkness of night, somebody disturbing her as she felt a hand brush against her stomach and reach into the foot well. Like a coiled spring, Tiffany reacted instantly, her hand snapping around the offending wrist and lifting it clear of her bag, Tiffany's eyes opening wide as she lifted her gaze from the hand and into the face of the potential thief. Selena Thomas, caught red handed, the look of surprise as she felt the vice-like grip around her wrist. Without saying a word, Tiffany pulled her knee up to her chin, her foot clear of the arm rest, before violently planting the sole of her foot, heel and all, into Selena's face. The scream of agony rattled around the bus as people woke up and nudged each other, craning to see the commotion. Springing to her feet, Tiffany was on her, Selena's hand trembling as she raised it to the fresh puncture wound now gracing her cheek, blood beginning to flow as her vision clouded over. Now there was a crowd, the mob of parolees baying for blood as Tiffany landed another blow, her fist crunching into the back of Selena's head, the cries of pain alerting the bus driver, turning for a split second to see the commotion igniting behind him. As he turned, and craned his head through the crowd of women, the bus veered left, smashing into the centre barrier and sending the rolling battering ram crunching across the slow lane of the interstate, smashing through cars like a knife through warm butter as it approached the grass embankment at breakneck speed, the driver thrown from his seat by the force of the sudden collisions. Heading over the edge of the road and across the grass, the bus became airborne as it flew through the air, the bodies inside feeling a moments weightlessness as the world outside turned to a sickening blur as heads cracked into seats, backs smashed against the ceiling and legs became wedged in whichever gaps they could find, snapping in two as gravity pulled the weight of the bus towards the ground with an almighty crash, the fender of the monolith the first to connect. Tiffany opened her eyes and took a second or two to remember what had happened, the smoking interior of the prison bus sending an acrid smell up her nose. Wires hung free, sparking with electric as bodies lay in every conceivable position, one or two decapitated, some twisted and bent double like a rag doll. The sound of running water was evident as Tiffany struggled to squeeze herself free, her body managing to become stuck between two rows of seats as the bus flew through the air. Letting out a shriek of pain, Tiffany managed to grab the arm rest and pull herself to her feet, the darkness enveloping her as she noticed the still bodies in every direction. She quickly cast a glance towards the front of the bus, the wire mesh separating the driver from the passengers still locked, holding strong despite the huge blow recently delivered. The windscreen of the bus was obliterated, the driver nowhere to be seen.

"Fucker's either been thrown out, or made a run for it!" Tiffany hissed as she wrapped her arm around her ribs, the pain pounding throughout her chest as she tried to move down the bus, stopping dead in her tracks as the wires dangling before her crackled and sparked with a ferocious intent. The smell, not the smoke, but the smell behind the smoke. It had been a while but she recognised it, the sound of running water going hand in hand as Tiffany's brain worked overtime, coming to a conclusion and making her spine tighten.

'That's not water.' She thought as she took in the sight of the mangled interior, the clear fluid trickling down the aisle of the bus, between her legs and through the twisted metal.

'That's gasoline!'

Turning on the spot and looking for the nearest possible exit, Tiffany headed for the window, glancing around her fellow passengers, desperate for help as she lifted her foot and brought it crashing down on the glass pane, the heel of her shoe hardly making a dent. Dropping to her knees, she tried again, punching this time as the window remained intact, tears beginning to fall as the situation dawned on her. Gritting her teeth and screaming, Tiffany punched the glass once more, the window moving slightly, but not enough. Suddenly she noticed the rubber seal, the corner of the window standing proud of the frame as she wrapped her fingers around the broken glass and began to pull, the window beginning to flex slightly as she levered it free from the side of the bus, pulling with all her might as she tried in vein to escape the metal death trap. Stopping for a breather, she now found herself able to wrap both hands around the glass and jam her foot against the back of a seat, pulling with her arms and pushing with her legs until the window eventually folded and smashed, part of the fitting breaking free in her hands. It was a squeeze, but Tiffany was sure she could do it, dropping to her knees and beginning to crawl through, head first, body second, suddenly feeling a hand grab her by the ankle. Twisting her neck and looking back through the glass, she was staggered to see the broken, bloodied body of Selena Thomas reaching out for her, her back disappearing beneath a pile of mangled steel and upholstery as the bus folded itself around her. Bones were standing proud of her arms as she cried, fear and excruciating pain combining and sending her into shock as she begged for Tiffany to come back, save her, turning her head and seeing the gasoline gently trickling down the twisted aisle of the once mighty machine and towards the sparking wires, the electricity working overtime as it desperately sought a release.

"Please..." She begged, her voice a whisper. "Help... Me..."

Pulling her leg free of Selena's grasp, Tiffany stared back through the glass and struggled to find the words, the actions, her thoughts cut short as the inevitable finally happened, a spark of electricity catching the small pool of gasoline and igniting it, a flaming trail immediately working its way up the bus, igniting Selena as she begged for help, her screams growing in volume and intensity as Tiffany quickly pulled her lower body through the bus window and into the cold, dark night beyond. The bus now suddenly ablaze as the voices of everybody on board screeched into the night air, burning alive as the flames took a hold and worked their way throughout the interior. Turning to the Interstate, ready to head up the embankment for help, Tiffany was caught by surprise as she spun into the face of the red headed doll, their noses touching as the face came alive and smiled at her, the unmistakable voice of Charles Lee Ray hissing as her breath escaped her body.

'Tiffany...'

"TIFFANY!" The voice startled her as her eyes snapped open, Selena standing overhead, bag draped over her shoulder. "Damn girl. You were 'out'."

"What the fuck!" Tiffany sat bolt upright and spun around, the sunlight blaring in, disappearing suddenly as the bus entered the darkness of the two storey, red brick structure, the CTA bus terminal housing a throng of commuters and vehicles, other passengers now beginning to stand with their belongings, waiting for the driver to kill the engine and unlock the door nestled in the mesh cage.

"Home, sweet home." Selena twisted her neck as the bus approached its intended bay, the driver guiding his vehicle between a couple of Greyhounds as he applied the brake and gently brought his rolling juggernaut to a standstill. Swinging her legs into the foot well, Tiffany grabbed her bag and stood, the driver throwing the switch for the double doors as he stood and fumbled in his pocket, the key to the mesh door appearing from within as he slid it into the lock and twisted, the assembled crowd gathered behind steadily beginning to stream through, down the steps and onto the concrete walkway that awaited them. Following Selena, Tiffany made her way down the aisle, bag over her shoulder as she flicked her blonde hair back over her shoulder and rapidly scurried through the centre of the bus, reaching the diesel choked atmosphere of the bus terminal in no time at all. As the crowd gathered, a small, elderly man appeared with a clipboard, waving arms as he sought to gain the attention of each and every girl, his white shirt and well pressed, pin stripe trousers giving him a modicum of authority as the hoard of women stood silently and allowed him to speak.

"Girls!" He bellowed, struggling to make himself heard over the constant hum of engines, the revving and honking of horns threatening to drown out his croaky voice. "Can I just do a head count girls?"

As he was speaking he motioned from left to right, index finger extended as he counted along the line of women, coming to a stop as he reached Tiffany, his eyes dropping to the clipboard as he surveyed the information at hand.

"Okay, girls. Twenty four is what it says, twenty four is what I have. Now can I just ask that you hang tight? You each have a probation officer assigned to your file, and each one of them is due down here any second now to speak with you and take you to your final destination."

His eyes flew up, examining the crowd in the distance of the terminal.

"Speaking of which, here they come now. Feel free to go get yourselves a drink, but please..." He held his hands up, palms facing the crowd. "Don't wander off. Just stay in this area, we have the entire platform allotted to us and you'll be dealt with as soon as your probation officer is on site. Can I just draw your attention to the police presence at either end of the terminal. Nothing to be alarmed about, but obviously the state of Illinois has a duty to protect its citizens from any 'potential' harm."

With that, the nameless little man marched off towards the scattered party heading his way, arms outstretched as he greeted each of the officers. As the minutes flew by, women disappeared, Selena one of the first to go, but not before scribbling an address on a notepad bought from a stationery store. Pretty soon the numbers dwindled more and more, Tiffany the last remaining reprobate as she sat with a cold cup of coffee and cement textured Danish pastry, half an hour passing as she waited and waited finally giving into curiosity as she ventured down the platform and checked out some of the more independent businesses located within the CTA terminal. Record stores, clothes outlets, fast food joints, eventually coming to a stop outside the huge store window of a second hand goods store. The sign above the window simply read 'Sullivan's Collectibles – Family Run Since 1985'. Mouth hanging open, the noise quickly dissolving behind her, Tiffany found herself lost in the window display, nostalgia sweeping through her as she feasted her eyes on what waited within. The usual stuff you'd come to expect from a store such as this. Rare records, books, autographed pictures of various celebrities, actors, singers, sports stars, everything you could think of really. But one thing had captured Tiffany's attention the second she wandered past the store, stopping her dead in her tracks as she casually walked on by. Right there, front and centre, sat proudly in the day-glow yellow box, smiling from within as the bright blue eyes stared vacantly from behind the cellophane and into the busy terminal beyond the store window. Not entirely visible due to the immaculate, original packaging, Tiffany could clearly see the unkempt mop of red hair, the pursing lips presenting the friendliest of smiles as the dolls neck disappeared into a striped sweater. Reds, blues and greens on display, vibrant colours obscured only by the cleanest of overalls, the torso of the doll hidden behind as the cellophane ended and the box began once more, red lettering spelling out the word 'Good Guys' above the dolls window, the astronomical price tag hanging from the box almost making Tiffany's eyes pop from her skull. Her mind flashing back over the years, Tiffany found herself enthralled in the presence of the doll, completely failing to notice the reflection in the store window as she was approached from behind.

"He wants 'you' for a best friend, right?" The woman spoke, smiling as Tiffany turned in surprise, spinning on her heels and almost falling into the stranger.

"I'm sorry?" She answered, head flitting from her new friend to the store window before quickly taking a look around the terminal once more, police presence still maintained at either end of the platform.

"The doll..." The woman spoke once more, motioning with a flick of her head over Tiffany's shoulder and back towards the store window. Mid-forties, Hispanic and standing at about 5' 6" Tiffany found the woman to be gesturing towards the Good Guy, sitting in the store window, no doubt lip reading from within as the conversation picked up the pace, the woman continuing. "Bit freaky nowadays, something of an acquired taste I guess you could say. More of a collector's item."

"Collector's item?" Tiffany found herself following the woman's gaze, turning and feasting her eyes on the doll once more.

"Yeah," The woman carried on, her eyes never once leaving the doll as she took a step alongside Tiffany, the two women now standing side by side. "After the stories and all."

"What stories?" Tiffany found herself asking, despite her extensive knowledge on the subject, it was always nice to find out as much as possible, a small conversation maybe leading to some startling revelation, especially considering Tiffany's limited interaction with the outside world this last few years.

"You know..." The woman turned her head, eyes narrowing as her earrings dangled from her lobes, her shoulder length mane of jet black curls flicking over her shoulder as she spun her head towards Tiffany. "The killer doll case of '88?"

Tiffany's expression remained one of blank ignorance as she simply pulled a confused face and gave a gentle shake of her head.

"Come on." The woman laughed. "The 'Curse of the Good Guy' back in 1990?"

Again Tiffany faked lack of knowledge regarding the subject at hand.

"No idea." She answered the stranger as she turned back to the window. "News to me."

"You're kidding right? Those two episodes damn near crippled the manufacturer." The woman also returned her attention to the friendly looking doll as she carried on, disbelief rippling through her tone. "Multiple murders ranging from one of Play Pals own executives all the way to a Chicago P.D officer?"

"Really?" Tiffany asked.

"Hell yes." The woman replied in astonishment. "Add to that the tabloid stories and rumours and I guess it was only a matter of time before the negative publicity sent sales plummeting. Those things literally went from biggest kids toy of a generation to being practically given away overnight!"

"Well if that's the case then why is this one $3,000?" Tiffany asked, her head flitting between the Hispanic woman and the store window.

Sighing and throwing the strap of her handbag over the shoulder of her cream coloured cardigan, the woman folded her arms across her chest.

"Seriously honey... You try finding a Good Guy these days. Rumour has it most of them ended up in landfills. Seems that after the stories got out, parents suddenly became a lot more cautious of what their kids played with. If I remember right, there was a protest outside the factory which ended with hundreds of the fucking things burnt to a crisp."

"Seriously?" Tiffany gasped, the story garnering her full attention as the woman continued to speak.

"Like I said... They're more of a collector's item now. Incredibly rare."

"Jesus." Tiffany spun her head back towards the store window.

"Anyway," The woman coughed to clear her throat. "Look at me boring you to tears. You must be Tiffany."

Unfolding her arms from her chest, the woman allowed a hand to shoot free, palm open wide and fingers extended as she offered a greeting.

"And you are?" Tiffany questioned, her own hand slowly gripping the Hispanic woman's and slowly shaking.

"Rita Hernandez." She answered with a friendly smile. "Don't be alarmed, I'm your probation officer."

"Ah, I see." Tiffany smiled, flashing her perfect row of pearly white teeth, kicking the kindness up a gear.

"Yeah, I need to work on my introductions I guess." Rita laughed. "Sorry I'm late, but they've had me shooting all over Chicago today, and that traffic. Man it's getting worse than ever."

"Don't worry about it." Tiffany grinned, releasing Rita's hand. "I'm used to killing time. Believe me."

"I bet you are." Rita laughed, stepping forward and holding out her hand, her own handbag balancing precariously on her shoulder. "Let me take that for you honey, you look beat."

"Oh thank you." Tiffany gushed, allowing Rita to take the bag from her. "It's not really heavy, hardly anything in it. Are you sure?"

"Yeah it's fine." Rita answered. "I need to look over your file anyway. But first things first, you hungry?"

"Starving." Tiffany nodded.

"I thought you might be. Come on, car's this way." Rita smiled and set off towards the parking lot, Tiffany starting to follow behind.

They'd only been in the car half an hour, Rita suddenly pulling off the street and into the parking lot of a fifties themed diner, Tiffany feeling a headache coming on. Question after question as Rita asked about everything from her childhood to life behind bars, Tiffany beginning to tire of the constant sound of her voice, asking instead if they could listen to the radio, a phone in sports show the first thing the scanner found as Tiffany leaned back in the soft leather upholstery of Rita's sedan and closed her eyes. The heat burning through the glass offset perfectly by the functional air conditioning of the car, Tiffany slipped off her heels and curled her feet into the corner of the passenger side foot well, turning her back politely to Rita and closing her eyes in an attempt to grab a short nap. She figured she'd had about twenty minutes, maybe half an hour at a push, before she could both feel and hear the crunching of gravel beneath the tyres, the car gently coming to a rest in the car park as Rita killed the engine and gave Tiff a little shake. Climbing from the car and allowing herself a generous stretch Tiffany instantly recognised the area of the city they now found themselves in. Lakeshore... Without saying a word, Tiffany and Rita grabbed their bags and headed inside, the waiter instantly showing them to a booth in the far corner of the diner. The menu wasn't up to much, offering the basic meals and drinks, Tiffany not upset one bit, ordering French toast with a couple sides of bacon and a black coffee, tearing into a pack of cigarettes bought at a kiosk in the bus terminal and quickly sucking the acrid, foul smoke back into her lungs, the rush of nicotine almost sending her dizzy. The food quickly arrived, Tiffany ordering yet another strong black coffee as Rita sipped her tea and made her way through the paperwork from Tiffany's bag.

"Okay," Rita began, breaking the silence with a sigh as she lifted her head from the piles of forms and instructions before her. "Looking at the rehab program you enrolled on through the last few years inside Logan, I think the placement we've sorted will work fine for you. Now it says here that you studied business, that right?"

"What I could." Tiffany answered, sucking the cigarette to the filter in record time.

"Meaning?" Rita asked, spreading paperwork over the table.

"Well, they don't give much in the way of guidance in that place. It's more a 'pick up what you can from books' approach they have." She answered.

"That's fine, the placement we have lined up doesn't really require much. More of a physical position than anything." Rita's eyes glanced from one form to another.

"How do you mean?" Tiffany asked, removing yet another cigarette from the packet.

"The lady you'll be working for isn't as young as she used to be, but don't worry I've a feeling you'll love it." Rita replied. "Now there's a few things I have to run by you. More of a check list if you will, of what you'll be doing, where you'll be staying and what we need you to do for us."

"I'm all ears." Tiffany leaned back in the comfort of the booth.

"Okay, first things first. We secured you work, not much, but still work. Living arrangements are in place too. So you'll be living on site by the looks of this."

Tiffany raised her hand, the cigarette swinging left to right as she spoke.

"What do you mean ' on site'?" She asked, sucking on the filter, smoke drifting through her nose.

"You'll be living where you work. Something wrong with that?" Rita asked.

"Fuck yeah." Tiffany laughed. "I'm not living wherever I'm working, you can forget that."

"You know what?" Rita snapped the file closed. "You're absolutely right. This won't do. Let me go phone the office and see if we can't get you a penthouse above a heroin factory huh?"

"Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit. You know that right?" Tiffany responded flatly.

"Well it's either this or back to Logan and you can finish the remainder of your sentence behind bars." Rita opened the file back up, her eyes burning into Tiffany's skull. "Your call Tiffany."

"Fine." Tiffany sighed as she took another drag, her head lolling back on the back rest of the booth, smoke spiralling into the air and pirouetting towards the ceiling.

"Okay, now as I was saying, we've arranged work, which will be unpaid naturally, but we've also sorted you accommodation too, so that takes care of that."

"Unpaid?" Tiffany coughed as she lowered her head and removed the cigarette from her lips. "So I don't even get paid? What am I supposed to do for money?"

"You'll do the same as everybody else. You'll receive an allowance from the penal system." Rita answered.

"Jesus Christ." Tiffany muttered under her breath.

"As I was saying." Rita continued, her eyes dancing across the paperwork. "You'll observe a curfew of 9pm, and what I mean by curfew is that you will not return home, from wherever you may venture, any later than 9pm. Any later than that and we'll have the sheriff's office on standby, they'll be dispatched to find you."

"Fair enough." Tiffany shrugged her shoulders. "What else?"

"Checking in with the local sheriff's office." Rita looked up. "You'll do this once a day for the first month of your placement. Depending on behaviour, that'll be reduced to once over three days, and so on and so forth. Now it's important you understand one thing Tiffany."

"What's that?" Tiff asked as she reached for her coffee and downed what remained.

"Just because you're out doesn't mean you're free. A lot of people get this idea in their heads that once they're out, they're free to just wander off and do what they like. Well that's not the case. Not with this, probation I mean. Try and think of it for what it is, the last eighteen months of your sentence, but easier. That's the only way I can describe it, and considering an attempted murder charge, you're damn lucky to be getting that."

"It was self defence." Tiffany spat as she leaned forward and pulled the cigarette from her lips.

"It was?" Rita scanned her eyes across the paperwork, smiling as her eyes came to rest. "Oh yeah. Sorry about that. But still, this is a damn sight easier than another year and a half behind bars."

"Okay, okay." Tiffany nodded, stubbing out the cigarette in the ashtray, raising her arm and extending her finger to attract the waiter as he passed with the coffee, indicating a refill and slipping the young boy a smile as he filled her cup before going about the rest of his day.

"So do you have any questions?" Rita asked, sitting back and eyeballing Tiffany, sat opposite the table, the coffee cup nesting between her hands.

"About?" Tiffany countered.

"Anything I've just discussed with you. Work, Living arrangements, curfews, anything at all?" Rita replied.

"Nope." Tiff smiled.

"Any questions about anything else?" Rita asked again.

"Well..." Tiffany started, thinking better of it and stopping instantly.

"Go ahead, if you have questions. That's what I'm here for." Rita smiled as she leaned forward.

"Can we talk about something a little more interesting?" Tiffany asked. "Just have a chat? You'd be surprised how hard it is to find an interesting conversation inside."

Sighing and picking up her tea, Rita smiled and gave a small laugh.

"I guess so." She said. "What you wanna talk about?"

"I dunno..." Tiffany let her eyes wander as she thought. "You seemed to know some interesting stuff about that doll in the store window."

"The Good Guy?" Rita seemed puzzled.

"That's the one." Tiffany leaned back and snapped her fingers. "I love stuff like that, find it fascinating."

"You do huh?" Rita smirked.

"Definitely. So that company went bankrupt right? After all the rumours?" Tiffany asked.

"Play Pals?" Rita stroked her cup. "They went into some kind of receivership yeah. I don't think they ever disappeared entirely though. They managed to tick over, but only just. Hell of a lot of redundancies though, apparently the factory's been off limits since all the shit hit the fan. I don't know what they found in there, but it was something Play Pals didn't want getting out."

"So what exactly happened?" Tiff queried. "How did all that shit start?"

"Well..." Rita leaned over the table, whispering as she looked to her right, out of the booth and into the busy diner, quickly returning her eyes to Tiff. "You never heard of the killer doll case?"

Tiffany shook her head.

"Well, rumour has it, that a serial killer, from around these parts actually, was shot by the cops as they chased him through some toy store. Before they could finish him off, he supposedly passed his soul into a Good Guy doll. Few days later, some mother buys the doll from a peddler and gives it her kid for his birthday or something. Next thing you know, bodies start showing up left, right and centre. The mother went to the cops and told them it was the doll, can you believe that?"

Tiffany's eyes widened as she shook her head once more, the familiar story always sounding fresh from a different perspective.

"Anyhow, the cops don't believe her and the kids taken away to be assessed. He's there one night then he disappears. His doctor, meanwhile, is found dead, electrocuted in the basement. That night the mother says she caught the doll trying to take over her son's body. Burned it, shot it, damn near ripped it to pieces but it kept coming."

"No shit." Tiffany muttered vacantly.

"Want to know the weirdest thing?" Rita smiled.

Tiffany nodded.

"Rumour was that two cops were there that night. Saw the whole thing. Even gave statements."

"You're kidding." Tiffany gasped.

"Nope." Rita shook her head. "They, along with the mother, start spreading these stories, Play Pals gets wind of it and denies all involvement. The case went to court where, naturally, the mother was eventually submitted for a psychiatric evaluation. During this time, for some reason, the two cops retract their statements. She's found crazy, her son gets taken into care. Case closed."

"Wow." Tiffany blinked as she sat back. "Is that it?"

"Well, if I remember right it took almost two years to get to court. As soon as the case was thrown out, Play Pals wanted the doll back, claimed they wanted to test it, analyse it. They figured it could well be some joker at the factory, recorded his own little voice cassette that scared the living hell out of the kid."

"So what did they find when they checked the doll?" Tiffany asked, reaching for another cigarette.

"Nothing, the doll was clean." Rita answered quick as a flash. "But here's where things get freaky. Around this time, people started showing up dead. The Play Pals executive that ended up taking the restored Good Guy home, the kid that originally claimed his doll was possessed found his foster parents murdered, the kid's teacher too now I come to think of it. There was even a Chicago P.D officer found dead, with parts of the original burned out doll on the back seat of his squad car. Whoever killed him slit his throat repeatedly then just left him to bleed out."

"Fuck." Tiffany gasped once more, faking surprise as her mind flashed back to that night, Officer Harry Marsh desperately clawing at his steering wheel as Tiffany leaned through the open window and retrieved her bag of dollar bills, slipping him a sly wink before walking barefoot into the Chicago night.

"Indeed." Rita took a sip of her tea. "A good man too. Decorated officer, nearing retirement age. Then that happened, for no reason whatsoever."

"Did you know him?" Tiffany asked, snapping Rita from her trance.

"Did I know who?" Rita asked, taking a sip of her tea, now cold and bitter.

"Officer Marsh." Tiffany asked innocently.

"Kind of." Rita answered. "I was on the force at the time. We worked out of the same precinct. I left around the time he died. You see something like that happen to a colleague and it's unsettling. Pus this opportunity came up on the probation service and it was too good to turn down. Better pay, better hours."

"I see." Tiffany answered.

"How did you know?" Rita asked, a look of confusion suddenly spreading over her face as she lowered her tea to the surface of the aluminium table.

"I'm sorry?" Tiffany replied, downing her coffee and shuffling to the end of the booth.

"How did you know his name was Marsh?" Rita fixed her a stare.

"I don't know." Tiffany struggled to recover, her heart beginning to race. "I must have read it in the paper I guess. I'm going to use the rest room before we head off. Okay?"

"Sure." Rita answered, confusion surging through her mind as she tried to recall whether she had let Harry Marsh's name slip, eventually shaking it off and figuring Tiffany's reason was as valid as any other.

'She must have read it in the paper.' She thought.

'She must have!'

Two hours of Interstates and highways had proven enough for Tiffany, asking Rita to pull over and let her climb into the back, instantly lying across the huge rear seat of the sedan and falling asleep within minutes. The afternoon had started to turn overcast as the sun disappeared behind some of the blackest clouds Rita had seen in years, rain beginning to fall within a matter of minutes. The downpour kicked up as Rita flicked both the windscreen wipers and her sidelights on, the sedan ploughing towards its destination as the rainwater kicked up behind. Turning her attention to the rear view mirror, Rita observed Tiffany sleeping, facing the trunk and curled into a ball. After five minutes, Tiffany's breath became louder as the car trundled along, Rita reaching into the back, placing her hand on the file besides Tiffany before pulling it into the front of the car and flipping it open. Eyes flitting from the road to the file, Rita ran her eyes over the details of Tiffany's arrest. According to the paperwork, she'd been arrested by two Chicago P.D officers in a department store as she stood idly watching televisions in the electrical goods department. Weird place for an arrest, but whatever, the guys must have had a reason... Suddenly the blare of the horn caused Rita to look up, the flashing headlights of the juggernaut bearing down on her as she immediately dropped Tiffany's file and placed both hands on the wheel, jerking the car to the left and out of the path of certain death, the honking horn whizzing past and disappearing behind the car as Rita struggled to gain control, steering into the skid as the back end of the sedan drifted onto the dirt bordering the Interstate. Tiffany sat up, oblivious to the near death situation she had just faced, taking a look around and finding nothing of interest before laying back down and proceeding to go back to sleep, all the while Rita feeling perspiration across her forehead at how stupid she had just been, blinking her eyes and focussing on the road ahead as the sign flashed up on the side of the road. Their destination only another two kilometres. Rita couldn't quite figure out what it was, maybe paranoia, in fact it probably was paranoia, but there was something about Tiffany Valentine that didn't add up. Ever since the diner, recalling the name of Officer Harry Marsh in an instant, Rita had been troubled. Putting it down to lack of sleep and too many hours, Rita tried to concentrate on something else, the road ahead being the first.

'Damn Rita.' She thought to herself as she relaxed and smiled into the rear view mirror. 'Get a hold of yourself girl!'

"We're almost here." Rita reached back and gave Tiffany a shake as the car pulled off Highway 52 and onto a deserted street, rain lashing at the windows as houses seemed to struggle to stay upright in the gale blowing around them. Sitting and giving a yawn and stretch, Tiffany looked out into the darkness of the bleak afternoon and gasped.

"Where the fuck are we?" She asked.

"Mount Carroll." Rita answered as she manoeuvred between two parked cars.

"Where?" Tiffany asked once more.

"Relax, it's not the end of the world." Rita said as the rain hammered on the hood of the car.

"I've never even heard of it." Tiffany rubbed her eyes and took a look around the narrow street, houses spaced unevenly either side of the small road, dirt track driveways leading up to each house as numerous barns and garages littered the expanse of green land.

"We're just slightly north-west of Chicago." Rita spoke as she concentrated, turning the corner and rolling along the street.

"How far?" Tiffany asked.

"Around about two hundred kilometres." Rita answered.

"Fuck!" Tiffany threw herself into the leather comfort of the rear seats, gripping her hair and closing her eyes.

"What's the problem?" Rita asked, glancing in the rear view mirror.

"Why?" Tiffany sighed.

"Why what?" Rita smiled. "Why so far?"

"Of course why so far." Tiffany groaned as she looked around once more, the rain sweeping over everything in sight, the rural countryside circling the small town for miles around.

"Part of the rehabilitation I guess." Rita said, giving the car a little gas as they made their way down the street. "Put you in the middle of nowhere, remove all temptation, familiar faces. Best way to kick any 'bad habits'."

"Meaning?" Tiffany scowled at her as she sat up, Rita noticing the look on her face as she looked in the mirror once more.

"Just standard I guess." Rita shrugged her shoulders as the car approached a small parking lot, the wooden store resting at the back of the small piece of land almost seeming to flex in the wind. "Listen Tiffany, I didn't make up any rules or grant you any conditions. I just do as the file says and try and keep you on the straight and narrow."

"Whatever." Tiffany sunk back once more, noticing as the car came to a standstill outside the small store.

"We're here." Rita turned and spoke, gently pulling the handbrake, the ratchet within clicking as she did so.

Looking out the window, Tiffany took a look at the sign sat atop the store, almost bent double as the wind rattled through, simply reading 'Appleby's Store... Est. 1934'. Craning her head and looking behind the store, Tiffany could make out a barn, also taking a battering from the weather as it sat beside a hill, the steps leading up from left to right, coming to a stop as they reached a veranda, the huge house towering above and looking over the small town below.

"It looks like the house from Psycho!" Tiffany pressed her palms against the car window, a bewildered look appearing as her mouth hung in astonishment.

"It's not that bad!" Rita replied as she turned the key in the ignition, the engine dying in an instant. Fumbling for her purse she reached for her door handle and turned to Tiffany. "Ready to make a run for it?"

"In these shoes?" Tiffany asked, grabbing her bag from the seat beside her.

"Sorry." Rita gave a sympathetic smile. "Now or never."

"Guess so." Tiffany sighed as she too reached for her door handle and pulled. The click of the mechanism and the opening of the door seemed to amplify the rain tenfold, the water instantly whipping inside the vehicle as Rita and Tiffany narrowed their eyes and stood, turning to slam the doors of the sedan closed behind them. Turning and running, Tiffany found herself left behind as she tried to run, struggling as her heels sunk into the wet dirt beneath her feet, Rita reaching the overhanging front of Appleby's store and turning to cast an eye over Tiffany's progress.

"Come on, we haven't got all day." She yelled over the racket of the downpour.

Sopping wet, Tiffany reached the steps up to the store and climbed, finding shelter beside Rita as she shook her head and felt water fly every which way.

"Easy for you to say." Tiffany scolded her. "You want to try running in these heels."

"We've all been there honey." Rita smiled as she turned and opened the door, the bell above jingling as she did so.

"Let's meet your new boss."


	13. Chapter 3-2

Chapter 3.2

The bell jingled once more as the door slowly pulled itself closed, the hammering of the rain immediately silenced as Tiffany shook herself dry before cautiously lifting her head and taking a look around the quiet store. The darkness was fighting a constant battle with whatever light attempted to emerge from the bulbs overhead, the rows and rows of products neatly aligned making the interior appear bigger than Tiffany had first imagined from the outside. The rows of shelves were only about shoulder height, enabling Tiff to see in a perfect circle all around the quaint, decor of the business. In the corner sat a small counter, the cash register sat proudly atop the surface of the wood, as the a door behind stood slightly open, the sign emblazoned across the glass simply reading 'OFFICE'.

"She'll be here somewhere." Rita said, turning and beginning to walk towards the counter.

"I don't know..." Tiffany remarked as she began to follow, flicking her wet hair back over her shoulder. "Maybe she's stuck in the 50s like the rest of this place."

"Don't let her hear you say that." Rita answered, looking as she spoke, the quiet tones of Frank Sinatra carrying partially across the store as the radio played to itself. Without warning Rita opened her mouth and called out. "Mrs Appleby?"

No answer...

"This is a bad idea." Tiffany proclaimed as she took yet another look around. "Let's go back to the city."

"Nice try." Rita glanced in Tiffany's direction and smirked. "Like it or not, this is where you stay... MRS APPLEBY?"

Tiffany covered her hears as Rita's voice rang out around the store, the wooden walls seeming to absorb the noise, all the while amplifying it. With a creak, the door to the office swung ominously open, the girls looking on as the black, empty void behind looking completely devoid of life. It was as Rita and Tiffany reached the middle of the store that the door behind them flew open with a bang, the two of them caught by surprise as they spun, Rita clutching her chest as the two girls laid their eyes on the woman before them. Tiffany's eyes felt they were being tricked as they took in the short, scrawny appearance of the woman before her. The long, straggly hair reminded Tiffany of straw, split ends riddling every strand as it came to a rest half way down her back. The wrinkled face, hidden behind a pair of narrow glasses, seemed to suggest a long, hard life as Tiffany's eyes continued, falling over the small and feeble body beneath. The long, thin, vein covered arms poked out from beneath an old t-shirt and a filthy apron as a pair of short, wiry legs emerged from a knee length skirt and came to a rest in a pair of scruffy, old, slippers, the wrinkled stockings almost falling around the ankles as the little old woman jumped a mile.

"Sweet Jesus!" The woman placed a hand on her heart and took a step back. "Don't you know it's bad manners to creep around in the dark like that?"

"Creep around?" Tiffany answered. "Are you fucking joking?"

Rita shot her a scowl, before turning her attention back to the frail figure before them.

"Hey Mrs Appleby." She spoke softly. "Sorry if we gave you a fright."

Removing her glasses, quickly wiping them along her apron before returning them to the bridge of her nose, Mrs Appleby furrowed her brow and looked at Rita.

"Rita, my darling." She smiled as she walked forward and past the girls, heading towards the other end of the store. "How are you? Can you believe this weather my child?"

"I know." Rita laughed as she followed, signalling for Tiffany to do so. "What's it all about? Supposed to be summer right?"

"Dear god in heaven, I don't know what it's going to do from one day to the next." Mrs Appleby laughed too, reaching the office door as she shuffled along, her feet barely leaving the floor as she walked.

Reaching the office, Mrs Appleby reached out with a long, gangly arm and held the door wide open, beckoning both the girls through. Offering Tiffany a smile as she passed, Mrs Appleby turned and closed the door behind them as she flicked on a light and the office became illuminated in a fluorescent glow. Pulling out a seat each, Rita and Tiffany sat themselves down as Mrs Appleby approached the other side of the desks and quickly sat opposite them both.

"Okay," Rita began. "Mrs Appleby, this is Tiffany. Tiffany, this is Mrs Appleby."

"Oh my." Mrs Appleby turned and took a long hard look at Tiffany. "Aren't you just the most beautiful little thing?"

Was she joking? Was she sugar coating everything she said? Or was she just trying to get Tiffany onside? One thing was for sure, Tiffany wasn't used to this kind of greeting, responding automatically as she felt the words fall from her tongue, her eyes narrowing as she examined the wrinkled little woman.

"Hi."

"Now," Rita turned to Tiff as she placed the file on the desk. "Mrs Appleby's had various offenders work for her. She enrolled on the probation program almost three years ago and we've had nothing but success."

"Indeed, has it been nearly three years already?" Mrs Appleby placed her bony elbows on the lacquered surface of the desk. "But to tell the truth, I need the help. As you can see Tiffany, my best days are long gone. Old age is certainly doing its best to slow me down. Seems like every day I find something else I struggle with out in the store."

"I can see that." Tiffany answered quickly, almost feeling a pinch of sympathy.

"I've been over the terms of Miss Valentine's license with her." Rita spoke to Mrs Appleby, her smile still beaming away as she took in the sight of the young, attractive girl before her. "But I'll obviously need to go over things with you also."

"Of course dear." Mrs Appleby turned her attention to Rita. "Of course."

"Now, the probation period is to last eighteen months." Rita began as she placed paperwork in front of Mrs Appleby, running the tip of her pen from one line to the other as she spoke, pointing out the basics. "During this time, Miss Valentine a minimum of six hours labour each day, five days a week, unpaid of course. At no time is money to exchange hands between yourself and Miss Valentine. She'll receive an allowance from the state, and no more. If she approaches you about this, then you alert me immediately."

"I see." Mrs Appleby glanced at Tiffany once more and smiled, Tiffany feeling the slightest hint of awkwardness as Rita highlighted the terms of her probation.

"You'll also have to keep record of the shifts Miss Valentine works, which will be collected every time I visit." Rita continued. "Obviously, you've done all this before Mrs Appleby, but the state of Illinois requires me to go over this every time for it to be legally binding."

"Don't worry my dear." Mrs Appleby answered with a slight laugh, turning into a cough as she reached for Rita's pen and began to sign the paper. "I understand."

"As for you Tiffany." Rita spun and shot Tiffany a stern look, the tone in her Hispanic accent cutting the air like a knife. "I'm going to point out right now that Mrs Appleby has a panic system fitted on site. This is purely in the event of any 'trouble'. The local sheriff's office can be here within three minutes, so don't think about pulling anything."

"Oh Rita," Mrs Appleby began, lifting her gaze from the paperwork and looking from Rita to Tiffany. "I'm sure there's no need for that. This girl looks perfectly harmless. I see a quiet innocence in her eyes."

Stunned, Tiffany smiled at Mrs Appleby before averting her eyes in Rita's direction. What the hell did she think she was going to do? Murder the old cow and be off before the night was out?

"With all due respect Mrs Appleby, it's better I point it out now than have something untoward happen somewhere down the line. It's for your safety, which is paramount." Rita explained.

Handing back the signed paper work, Mrs Appleby sat back in her flimsy wooden chair, the legs creaking under the strain as she lay her hands across her chest, the finger intertwining as she smiled peacefully at Rita.

"Thank you my dear. I certainly appreciate it."

"Can I just ask something?" Tiffany sat forward, arm semi-raised as both Rita and Mrs Appleby turned their attention to her.

"Of course." Rita answered, the fluorescent light of the office lending a subtle glow to her olive skin.

"Where the hell am I supposed to be sleeping?" Tiffany asked as she lowered her arm.

"Why with me my dear. Up at the house." Mrs Appleby replied with a soft, gentle laugh.

"I thought so." Tiffany sank back into her chair. "But what about clothes? Things like that? They literally kicked me out of Logan with nothing but the clothes on my back and a couple of valuables. I can't really carry out 'duties' dressed like this can I?"

"I guess not." Rita replied.

"I don't know." Mrs Appleby started laughing, eying the short dress, Tiffany's cleavage almost falling over the hem. "Maybe custom would pick up a bit, who knows?"

Turning from Mrs Appleby, and with a beaming smile across her lips, Rita narrowed her eyes as she began to see the practicality of Tiffany's query.

"You do have a point I guess."

"It'll be no trouble." Mrs Appleby suddenly pushed herself from the chair, standing before the two girls as she walked to the office door, reaching it as her feet shuffled along the wooden floor boards and pulling it open. "There's plenty of clothes up at the house. The girls I've had here before were probably a similar size to you. Maybe not across the bust, but if that's all we've to worry about then I don't think there's a problem."

"You know what?" Rita stood, grabbing her bag along with Tiffany's file from the desk, gesturing for Tiffany to stand with her. "I never even thought about that. Thank you Mrs Appleby, that would be a great help."

"Yes," Tiffany sneered. "Thanks."

"Such an angel." Mrs Appleby took a deep breath as she stared at Tiffany. "I can see me and you are going to get along very well. In fact, I think you could be just the girl I've been waiting for."

Feeling nauseous, Tiffany left the glaring glow of the office and entered the dull, ambience of the store, Rita following as Mrs Appleby flicked off the light and closed the door behind them.

"Are you sure you want me up in the house with you?" Tiffany turned to Mrs Appleby, suddenly seeing a concerned expression cross her wrinkled face as she pursed her lips together.

"Well yes." Mrs Appleby answered. "Why on earth not?"

"Well Rita seems more concerned over the fact you might wake up dead than you do." Tiffany smiled. "I could stay in a hotel or something."

"Nice try Tiffany." Rita scowled.

"To be honest," Mrs Appleby started. "I'll be glad of the company. It's been awfully lonely since my Gerald passed away. He used to run the store you see. I was more of a 'stay at home' kind of wife."

"I see." Tiffany replied, feeling a touch of sympathy.

"So as far as that goes, I'll be delighted to have some company again." Mrs Appleby continued.

"How long since he died?" Tiffany asked, noticing Rita's head flicking back and forth as she observed the conversation.

"Oh, about five years almost." Mrs Appleby bowed her head slightly. "Yes, five years this Christmas."

"I'm sorry to hear that." Tiffany found her eyes now focusing on the floor.

The silence fell awkwardly around the three women, none knowing the best way to continue, until Rita suddenly spoke, giving Mrs Appleby.

"I'd better get going then. Paperwork to do back at the office." She smiled before turning and shooting Tiffany a curious look. "Don't try anything Tiffany. Get your head down, do what's asked and it'll be over in no time."

"I know." Tiffany whispered.

Turning and heading towards the exit, Mrs Appleby and Tiffany followed, the bell above the door chiming again as Rita headed into the heavy downpour, racing across the small parking lot and reaching her car in no time at all, climbing inside and taking a minute to fill out some more paperwork. As Tiffany came to a standstill beside Mrs Appleby, the pair of them stood in silence and watched on through the huge, frosted, front window of the store, the interior light of the Sedan shining like a beacon in the darkness of the evening before suddenly extinguishing as Rita fired up the engine and pulled away, headed back towards Chicago. Tiffany had a feeling something was up, praying it was paranoia getting the better of her. She just couldn't believe how stupid she'd been back in the diner that afternoon. Deep in thought, watching Rita's tail lights disappear into the storm, the silence was broken as Mrs Appleby finally spoke, her voice low, her tone dry as Tiffany's eyes opened in wide shock, surprised to say the very least.

"Thank god she's gone." Mrs Appleby started. "Fucking spic!"

The house was surprisingly warm, yet predictably decorated as Tiffany crossed through the front door, her legs tired from the steep, seemingly never-ending steps leading up from the land at the back of the store. Flicking the lights on Mrs Appleby turned and gave Tiffany a smile, motioning towards the coat stand, stood proudly beside the front door as Tiffany slammed it shut.

"You can hang your coat there dear." She smiled, rubbing the palms of her hands together as she spoke. "But do me one favour."

"What's that?" Tiffany asked, as she started to remove her leather jacket.

"Don't slam the fucking door." Mrs Appleby smiled, an innocent smile, suddenly spouting the words of a demon. "I only have the one, and I'd rather not have to mess about getting a new one hung."

"Okaaaay." Tiffany found herself saying, the sudden change in Mrs Appleby alarming her slightly.

"Come," Mrs Appleby reached out and grabbed Tiffany's hand. "Let me show you around."

For a woman with deteriorating health Tiffany seemed to suddenly notice a spring appear in Mrs Appleby's step as she shuffled manically through the house showing her each and every room, her slippers moving frantically along the thick carpets, Tiffany almost falling over on a couple of occasions, Mrs Appleby not giving her two seconds to remove her heels before the guided tour began. The lounge, with it's wonderful bay window overlooking the town below, was modest but homely, the flowered wall paper from top to bottom lending a very cosy vibe as the huge fireplace sat beneath an oak mantle piece.

"That's a wonderful vase." Tiffany complimented as she viewed the dark, ceramic vase sat atop the mantle.

"That's not a vase you idiot." Mrs Appleby snapped.

"Oh?" Tiffany involuntarily replied.

"That's my husband. He sits there day after day, never moves, never answers back, nothing." Mrs Appleby waved her arms as she spoke. "He's a damn sight more agreeable since he died, put it that way."

Without thinking, Tiffany laughed, realising at once and covering her mouth with the back of her hand, Mrs Appleby turning to her instantly.

"Don't laugh." She began. "He's fucking dead. What's funny about that?"

"Nothing." Tiffany cleared her throat and removed her hand from her face. "It's just..."

"It's just nothing." Mrs Appleby seemed to scold her. "Stop being so disrespectful. Come on, I'll show you the kitchen. You'll need to know where things are I guess."

Emerging from the lounge and entering the hall once more, Tiffany could hear the rain slamming against the front door, never relenting, constantly battering away as the wind whipped and whistled through the keyhole. Brought back from her day dreaming as Mrs Appleby's voice echoed through her ears.

"Tiffany!" She spat.

"Oh," Tiffany spun. "Sorry. Just that rain doesn't seem to be letting up."

"Never mind the rain dear." Mrs Appleby waved her towards the kitchen door. "Come along. We don't have all night. I could have customers queuing down the street by now you know."

"I doubt it." Tiffany sighed under her breath as she entered the kitchen.

She was quite surprised by the scene that greeted her. The kitchen seemed quite fresh considering the decor of the lounge. Granite worktops adorned the sides as rich, pine doors graced every cupboard on display. Kitchen utensils of every variety hung from hooks as they hovered above a centre station, the exact same worktop and cupboards fitted as the kitchen circled around it. Over in the corner sat a pretty large dining table, four places laid out perfectly as though guests were expected all of a sudden.

"This is huge!" Tiffany gushed as she entered, Mrs Appleby folding her arms across her flat chest and nodding.

"Damn right it's huge." I got this with money left from Gerald's pension. "I do a lot of my own baking for down at the store, so I figured why not go nuts."

"Absolutely." Tiffany spoke as she looked around, suddenly noticing a trunk sitting beside the kitchen door, the padlock keeping it secure. "What's in here, all the valuables you don't want your little reprobates stealing?"

"Not exactly valuable." Mrs Appleby smiled. "Just junk really. More sentimental value than anything. Some of it my husband's. I open it sometimes and just think of what things could be like now, if only things were different."

"I understand. Don't worry." Tiffany's tone seemed more relaxed.

"About?" Mrs Appleby asked.

"Me..." Tiffany seemed ashamed. "I know I've done things. Not made the best decisions in life. But I'm setting things straight. Moving on."

"I know you can do it." Mrs Appleby stroked her arm. "Come on. Let's see your room."

Upstairs seemed to take on a whole different atmosphere as the stale smell hung in the air, the old person vibe emanating from every wall. Carpets were mismatched, some not cut to the right size, some barely covering the floor at all. Tiffany's room however seemed to be clean and warm, which was more than she could ask for. The cell she had only left that morning leaving little to be desired, as Tiffany cast her mind back, startled at how the time had seemed to fly since leaving Logan, her reminder that it was less than twenty four hours since Governor McComb had ordered Amy Kroeger beaten to a pulp suddenly allowing a cloud to hover above her head.

"Listen." Mrs Appleby said as Tiffany dropped her bag to the floor, sinking to the bed and allowing the mattress to ripple beneath her body. "You get yourself sorted. There are clothes in the closet, odds and ends of all the cosmetics left behind are in the dresser, and the bathroom is just down the hall."

"Thank you." Tiffany looked at her with tears in her eyes.

"Now don't start that." Mrs Appleby smiled. "Ain't no room for tears. You'll fucking well set me off."

Tiffany laughed, emotions getting the better of her as she smiled and wiped her eyes.

"How about I make us some tea?" Mrs Appleby asked. "I've some chocolate cake too. Was supposed to be for the store, but it won't hurt if we take a couple slices for ourselves."

"Mrs Appleby." Tiffany called after her as she turned and made her way through the door.

"Yes?" She replied, spinning on the spot.

"To be honest, I'm kinda tired out, what with all the travelling and all."

"I see." Mrs Appleby replied with a smirk.

"Yeah, I think I'd better try and get some rest." Tiffany spoke, hoping not to make the atmosphere awkward.

"I understand entirely." Mrs Appleby replied. "I'm going to close the store. Who knows, maybe I'll get an early night myself."

"Thank you." Tiffany said as the door gently closed behind her.

Pulling the covers back and kicking off her heels, Tiffany laid down and pulled the blankets back over her body, feeling the warmth envelope her body as she closed her eyes and allowed herself to drift off.

Ready for a new start.

A new chapter.

The night passed quickly, Tiffany falling asleep within minutes as the warmth of the blankets, coupled with the comfort of the soft and heavenly bed, gently helped extinguish the memories of Logan Correctional Centre and settle Tiffany into a twelve hour coma, her eyes snapping open as Mrs Appleby's weathered old voice reverberated upstairs and down the hall towards Tiffany's room. Rolling onto her back, Tiffany threw her arms out, stretching as she released the most enormous yawn of her life, the sun light beaming through the window as the curtains gently rippled in the slight summer breeze. The tweeting of birds casually filtered in as Tiffany sat up, the palms of her hands digging into the soft mattress as she blinked her eyes, still groggy from the long sleep and not entirely sure where she was, her bearings returning quickly enough as Mrs Appleby's voice once more rattled throughout the house, louder this time, Tiffany's ignorance obviously not impressing the little, old woman.

"TIFFANY!" She yelled from the bottom of the staircase. "OUT OF BED YOUNG LADY, IT'S TIME TO EARN YOUR KEEP."

Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, Tiffany stood, suddenly realising the fact that she decided against undressing the previous night, quickly unzipping her black dress and letting it fall to the floor before crossing the bedroom and pulling open the doors of the built in wardrobe, her ample breasts wobbling as she stood back, her body completely naked as she pulled various garments from the darkness before her and laid them across the bed. The selection wasn't as bad as she'd imagined. Not exactly her style, but better than nothing. Picking out a pair of jeans and a slightly faded Guns 'N Roses t-shirt, Tiffany returned to the wardrobe hoping to find a more practical selection of footwear, disappointed as she found there to be none, instead turning and once more slipping her feet into the heels she had hurriedly kicked off the night before.

'Doubt this 'allowance' I'm getting is gonna stretch to an afternoon shoe shopping.' She thought as she pulled her bedroom door open and headed down the hall, reaching the top of the stairs at a canter. Beginning to descend the deceptively steep steps before her, Tiffany held the banister as she walked, not only to help fight gravity as the angle of the decline worked against her, but also to remain upright, her heels digging into the thick carpet as she walked, surprised to suddenly see Mrs Appleby appear at the foot of the stairs. Either she hadn't been to bed, or she'd thrown on the mucky old clothes from the day before, the apron once more hanging from her neck as her small, wiry body lay buried beneath an old t-shirt and a frumpy old skirt.

"About time." Mrs Appleby spat, not even the hint of a smile or a greeting.

"Sorry." Tiffany answered. "Yesterday kind of took it out of me. It's been years since I slept in a bed as comfortable as that."

"Well I hate to break it to ya," Mrs Appleby started. "But if you thought all that travelling you did yesterday was bad, then you haven't seen shit yet."

"Oh?" Concern crept into Tiffany's tone.

"Oh, indeed. I've a hell of a lot of work needs doing down at the store. Two months I've been on my own. I just hope you're not as useless as the last stupid bitch they lumbered me with." Mrs Appleby snapped as she turned and headed towards the kitchen. "But we'll see how you go. First things first, let's get you some breakfast."

Hopping from the bottom step of the staircase, Tiffany lifted her head and followed Mrs Appleby, her eyes working over the walls as she walked, the house seeming to look different as the sunlight streamed in through every door and window it could. Entering the kitchen, Tiffany was happy to see the plate of breakfast waiting on the table, the black coffee resting beside it as She pulled out a chair and casually took a seat, face lighting up as she watched the steam escape the coffee and corkscrew majestically into the cool air of the kitchen. The cooked breakfast looked amazing, the smell even better as Tiffany took in the sight of bacon, eggs over easy, sausages, fried mushrooms, baked beans, everything she could ask for as she lifted her knife and fork and began to tuck in, the tastes and textures igniting an orgasm amongst her taste buds as she chewed and swallowed, reaching for the coffee and taking it as it was, black, no sugar, washing a mouth full of bacon and eggs down as her stomach grumbled in happiness.

"Jesus." Mrs Appleby came and sat opposite, her chair screeching along the floor as she pulled it beneath her. "Didn't they feed you in that place?"

"Not like this." Tiffany smiled as she spoke through a mouthful of food, her manners escaping her momentarily.

"I'm willing to bet your cell mate slept with one eye open." Mrs Appleby's eyes widened. "The way you're attacking that bacon, it's a wonder you didn't resort to fucking cannibalism."

"This is wonderful." Tiffany smiled, speaking between mouthfuls.

"What was it like in there then?" Mrs Appleby asked.

"In Logan?" Tiffany replied.

"Ah, you're from Logan..." Mrs Appleby sat back and cradled her own cup of coffee in her hands. "Rita didn't tell me which one you were from."

"Well for what it is, it's not too bad." Tiffany thought as she spoke, her attempts to be polite and courteous hopefully not going unnoticed.

"Meaning?" Mrs Appleby asked.

"It had good and bad points." Tiffany laughed. "The food was terrible, the guards are a nightmare and the governor is a bit of a bastard."

Mrs Appleby suddenly slammed her fist into the table, Tiffany's plate vibrating under the force as a ripple spread across the coffee sitting in her cup. Shocked, Tiffany sat bolt upright and took a brief pause from chewing.

"You'll watch your language in this house." Her eyes burned into Tiffany as she spoke, a sincere look etched into her wrinkled face.

"I'm sorry..." Tiffany started, Mrs Appleby cutting her off, hand held up as she closed her eyes an nodded her head.

"That's alright." She spoke softly. "There's nothing worse than hearing vulgar language from the lips of such a beautiful young girl. Now me, I can swear like a trooper. But I'm old and I don't have to impress jack shit. You get me?"

Tiffany nodded, slowly starting to chew once more.

"Now I think that while we're on the subject of what you can and can't do, this would probably be as good a time as any to lay down a few ground rules." Mrs Appleby calmly sat back, placing her coffee cup on the table before allowing her arms to overlap across her chest.

"Okay, sure." Tiffany agreed, nodding once more as she ate.

"Rule one," Mrs Appleby's tone carried an air of authority. "No drugs. Now I don't want you to think I'm jumping to conclusions, but I have to say that. The first girl I had stay with me turned my fucking attic into a damned cannabis farm by all accounts. It didn't look too good on me or my business as the drugs squad were hammering down my door in the middle of the day and carrying their precious evidence bags out of here by the truck load."

"Oh my god." Tiffany laughed, thinking better of it and allowing it to evolve into a cough before Mrs Appleby could notice. "You didn't know?"

"How the hell would I? I'm too old to be climbing ladders into a cold, dark attic. The only clue I had was that my electricity meter was spinning like a fucking extractor fan. They say she had more lights up there than Wrigley Field."

"Who's Wrigley Field?" Tiffany asked as she took a slurp of coffee.

"Not 'who', but 'what'..." Mrs Appleby sighed. "It's where the Cubs play there games."

Tiffany's face looked back at Mrs Appleby with a vacant expression.

"Baseball?" Mrs Appleby seemed astonished.

" Oh... I see now." Tiffany smiled.

"Ah forget it." She carried on. "The only reason I know it is because of my Gerald. He was a huge Cubs fan, god rest his soul."

"Okay," Tiffany nodded and smiled. "No drugs. That's fair enough, you've nothing to worry about with that."

"I hope so Tiffany, I certainly hope so." Mrs Appleby shook her head. "I couldn't go through that again. I felt like a damned criminal."

"What's rule two?" Tiffany asked, her breakfast almost finished, disappearing quickly.

"Rule number two..." She started, monitoring Tiffany's expression for any sign of a problem. "No men."

"I wouldn't worry about that either." Tiffany held up her hand.

"I see." Mrs Appleby sighed, nodding slightly. "I get ya. All those years with nothing but women for company. Could happen to anybody. I'm not saying I approve but, so long as it doesn't happen under my roof I couldn't care less."

"I'm sorry?" Tiffany gasped.

"You're a..." She paused, her face creasing as she narrowed her eyes and thought hard. "What's the word? I'm looking from something not too offensive."

"Lesbian?" Tiffany replied quickly.

"I was gonna go with rug muncher. But that's fine too." Mrs Appleby made a 'whatever' gesture and sank back into her seat. "That rule stands for women too. Although I know damn near every person in this community and I don't think we have anybody that would be interested."

"What the hell?" Tiffany seemed shocked.

"Don't get me wrong, you're an attractive girl, but I just don't think you'll pick anybody up around here." Mrs Appleby grabbed her coffee.

"Well if it puts your mind at ease, then I'm happy to report that I'm neither a lesbian or a drug addict." Tiffany answered, her turn to snap.

"Really?" Mrs Appleby seemed surprised. "I wouldn't care if you were you know."

"Believe me, I wouldn't care that you cared." Tiffany dropped the fork, finally finishing her meal. "I'm just not a lesbian."

"So why shouldn't I worry about men?" Mrs Appleby seemed confused. "From past experience with your kind, the first thing you do when you get here is head out looking for the nearest man with a pulse and a hard on."

"Let's just say if something happened naturally then fine." Tiffany answered. "But I'm not making the effort to look for it. Besides which, my last boyfriend was a bit of a dick. He had all the time in the world to call me, but I didn't hear a damn word."

"I hear ya." Mrs Appleby smiled. "So nothing to worry about with men either. That's good."

"Dare I ask if there's a rule number three?" Tiffany asked.

"No trouble." Mrs Appleby calmly replied.

"Meaning what exactly?" Tiffany seemed confused.

"Exactly what I say. No trouble. I don't want any of your friends from inside looking you up and thinking they can just ride on in like hurricane, leaving us to deal with all the shit they have crammed up their ass."

"I wouldn't worry about that." Tiffany laughed, her mind instantly recalling Selena Thomas. "I don't think they'd even be able to."

"Oh you'd be surprised." Mrs Appleby nodded as she spoke, her hands now caressing the coffee in her hands. "Some of these girls get very friendly with their probation officers, if you catch my drift. You'd be surprised at how quickly they can find you. A blow job here, a quick look at a file there, next thing you know, you've got an army of reprobates on the doorstep and all of them thinking they've found a place to hide out."

"Wow." Tiffany was dumbstruck, simply not used to having such conversations with a woman of Mrs Appleby's age.

"Yeah." Mrs Appleby seemed to gaze vacantly, her eyes almost looking through Tiffany, suddenly snapping from her mini trance and offering Tiffany a smile. Tiffany was beginning to notice there was no in between with this woman, she was either in your face with kindness or snapping at your ass with an insult.

"Any more rules?" Tiffany asked, dreading what was to come next.

"I think we're done with the rules dear." Mrs Appleby beamed.

"Okay." Tiffany sighed as Mrs Appleby stood from the table, the chair screeching once more as the legs scraped along the floor. "Mrs Appleby..."

She turned to Tiffany, stopping in her tracks, unsure what to expect.

"Thank you." Tiffany smiled. "All I want to do is put the past behind me and move on. No trouble, no men and definitely no drugs. I think we'll get along and I really appreciate you taking me in."

Without saying a word, Mrs Appleby smiled and leaned in close, the two women's noses almost touching as she began to speak, her voice low.

"I agree with you in some respects my dear. But never forget one thing." She said.

"What's that?" Tiffany asked.

"Sometimes we have to leave things in the past. Because they're the things that can ruin our future." Mrs Appleby whispered.

Hearing those words, Tiffany welled up, tears quickly forming in her eyes as Mrs Appleby stood straight and took Tiffany's empty plate, speaking once more as she addressed Tiffany.

"Now then my dear girl." She smiled. "Let's get to work."

Two hundred kilometres away, back in Chicago, time was of the essence this morning as the lights of the office flickered into life, cubicles and desks littering the vast floor assigned to Chicago Probation Services. Arriving early for work and looking left to right, taking extra care to make sure she was alone, Rita Hernandez crossed the thinly carpeted office space and reached her desk, throwing her handbag to the floor as she pulled out her seat and sat, spinning and opening Tiffany Valentine's file. Running her finger through the details surrounding her arrest for the attempted murder of Evan Carter, she didn't know what it was but there was something bothering her. A feeling. A haunting feeling that hadn't let up all last night, placed in her head less than twenty four hours ago as she sat opposite Tiffany Valentine in the diner, Tiffany startling Rita with her knowledge of something she had no right knowing about. Suddenly she stopped, her finger coming to a halt on a date. The air knocked from her lungs as she realised what she was on to, hoping her memory wasn't playing tricks on her. She was damn well sure this wasn't a coincidence. Reaching out and grabbing the receiver of the phone from her desk, she dialled an internal office number and calmly waited as the phone rang. Rita was just about to hang up as the line crackled, the ringing interrupted as a voice appeared on the other end, causing Rita to breathe a sigh of relief.

"It's me!" She gasped, the voice on the other end laughing slightly and beginning to talk, Rita instantly stopping it dead in its tracks as she continued. "Listen, I don't have time. I shouldn't be here right now, but I need a favour."

Disagreement down the line as the voice became slightly agitated.

"I know, I know. It's early for me too. Listen, you'd really be helping me out!" Rita tried to reason.

The tone turned more agreeable, Rita cradling her head in her hands as she spoke into the receiver.

"I need you to help me with this, starting with calling at archives and pulling the Marsh file." She asked.

The voice now filled with surprise, disbelief.

"Yes, that's right." Rita looked at the clock on the wall, colleagues expected to start pouring through the door any minute.

"Officer Harry Marsh."

The day hadn't been kind to Tiffany as she slumped to a sitting position at the foot of her bed, the blisters from a full day of humping heavy boxes beginning to sting and ache as she ran her fingers gently over the dry skin of her palms. Fair enough, a woman of Mrs Appleby's age and stature couldn't be expected to lift such weights, but still... Tiffany had become enraged at one point, the heckling from the old goat very nearly sending her into meltdown as she insisted Tiffany's posture was all wrong, that she bend from the knees and not the back, that she shouldn't be wearing heels that high anyway. Tiffany had turned and snapped back at Mrs Appleby, complaining that she could quite easily have hired somebody for a couple of hours each week, rather than letting months of deliveries build up, the storeroom buried deep in box after box. She didn't like that, especially the bit where Tiffany had claimed the old woman to be too stringent with the old purse strings to hire somebody, preferring to wait and get her labour done for free by the next mug to roll of the Rita Hernandez conveyor belt. Mrs Appleby had simply snapped back and threatened to press her panic alarm if Tiffany didn't do as she was told.

"Quit being a moaning little bitch. Or I'll have you taken back to that lesbian factory you came from." Mrs Appleby had said referring to Logan, her tone riddled with venomous streaks as she sat behind the counter of the store, monitoring Tiffany from over the top of the cash register.

Tiffany had backed down at that point, knowing the insidious old cow held all the cards, deciding to just focus on the job at hand as she stacked shelf after shelf, mopped the floors, check the rat traps out back. If there was a truly shitty job that needed doing, you can bet Tiffany had been asked to do it that day. True they made their peace and even shared a laugh towards the end of the afternoon as Mrs Appleby brought her out a cup of tea and apologised for interfering, but Tiffany had still felt enraged at the tasks she had been asked to perform. But Mrs Appleby had a point, and it was better than being back inside with the lecherous Governor McComb keeping a constant eye on her every move. In fact Mrs Appleby had said a few things today, one sentence in particular still rattling around Tiffany's head as she sat, worn out, perched on the end of her bed.

'Sometimes we have to leave things in the past.' She had said. 'Because they're the things that can ruin our future.'

Right now Tiffany knew exactly what she meant, and exactly how correct she had been as she reached to the floor and gripped her bag, lifting it and placing it on her knees. Opening the bag and fishing inside with a blistered hand, she finally felt what she was looking for and wrapped her hand around it, withdrawing her arm from the bag and opening her fingers, the ring sitting proudly in the middle of Tiffany's palm. She remembered the night she had found it on the mantle of her shit hole of an apartment, the body of Keith Allen still warm as his blood spilled across her bed. She remembered the news report, Chucky's death flashed to the city of Chicago without a care in the world for those that knew him, those that loved him, or in Tiffany's case, worshipped him. But now, as she sat looking at the ring, all she could focus on was her current predicament as Mrs Appleby's words continued to circle her head, dropping the ring back into the darkness and pulling the bag closed as she stood, crossing the floor and pulling open the heavy wardrobe doors once more. Allowing the bag to fall from her hand, Tiffany swung back with her right foot and volleyed it into the back of the wardrobe, the past suddenly behind her as Tiffany vowed to herself, promised that she would make this work. A better future. A better life. A chance to start again and make something of her life. As far as she was concerned right now, she was on her own.

Charles Lee Ray was dead and buried...


	14. Chapter 3-3

Chapter 3.3

June 21st 1993 (One Week Later)

"Come on." The voice hissed, patience fast expiring.

"I'm trying." The reply came, breathless and laboured.

"Anybody else would've had this thing open by now." The croaky old voice spat again. "But not you. No, they had to send me a lightweight."

"Maybe if you'd help... Instead of standing there lecturing..." The young voice grunted as the girl spoke, the creaking of wood, the straining of metal as the huge wooden doors abruptly opened, knocking Tiffany from her feet as she released the handle. As the dust began to settle, and Tiffany pressed her palms into the dirt, pushing herself upright, Mrs Appleby staggered forward and into the cavernous entry of the barn, the darkness within seeming to beckon the old girl forward as she stood with an expectant look, mouth agape.

"Dear god." Mrs Appleby whispered as she narrowed her eyes and stared into the void before her, never noticing Tiffany rise to her feet behind her, brushing the dirt and dust from her jeans.

"You're welcome Tiffany." She muttered under her breath, the sarcasm not picked up as Mrs Appleby stood with her back to her. The sun beating down across the small town amplified the dusty atmosphere as Tiffany coughed, causing Mrs Appleby to turn and snap from her hypnotic state.

"I haven't opened this barn in so long." She softly said, her face overcome with emotion.

"No kidding." Tiffany said, craning her neck and looking around the area for any sign of life.

"Not since my Gerald died." Mrs Appleby whispered, turning back to the barn.

"So why are we opening it now then?" Tiffany asked, confused. "Bit weird isn't it?"

"You'll see." Mrs Appleby called back over her shoulder as she entered the interior of the barn, fumbling on the wall beside the door as she ran her hand along the coarse wood, finally finding the light switch. The lights, high in the rafters, sparked as the current passed through the circuits and illuminated the barn, agricultural equipment of every kind as far as the eye could see, lying dormant as rust took hold and sucked the life from it.

"I'm guessing Gerry was something of a hoarder then?" Tiffany asked as she followed, now standing in the doorway as Mrs Appleby joined her.

"Don't call him that." She scowled. "He was christened Gerald."

"Fair enough." Tiffany smiled, reaching into her pocket and pulling the pack of cigarettes free. Tearing the cellophane wrapper from the box, Tiffany flipped it open and retrieved a lone cigarette, placing the filter between her lips as she returned the pack to her pocket.

"Jesus Christ." Mrs Appleby yelled, turning as Tiffany struck her match down the barn door, the naked flame sucked into the end of the cigarette as Tiffany inhaled, quickly extinguishing the flame.

"What?" Tiffany asked as she exhaled the acrid cloud of smoke, gripping the cigarette between her fingers and holding her arms out.

"You want to blow us the fuck up you stupid idiot?" Mrs Appleby hollered, grabbing the cigarette and throwing it to the floor, immediately stubbing it out with her slipper.

"Whoops." Tiffany laughed, noticing the half filled cans of gasoline littering the barn. "Sorry."

"You will be sorry." Mrs Appleby turned back to the assembled junk and machinery. "You still owe me for those infernal things too."

"I know." Tiffany rolled her eyes as she stepped forward and stood beside her new friend, now safely inside the confines of the huge, wooden structure.

"Disgusting habit. Probably be the death of ya..." She carried on, turning to Tiff. "But I ain't your god damn mother, so you do as you please."

"I don't know..." Tiffany pondered. "I see myself going in a more glorious manner than emphysema or lung cancer."

"Nothing glorious about dying." Mrs Appleby waved her hands and stepped forward, approaching a huge object hidden beneath a tarpaulin. "My Gerald was evidence of that."

"How did Gerry die?" Tiffany asked as she followed on, noticing the look on Mrs Appleby's face as she turned her head in Tiffany's direction, correcting herself instantly. "Sorry, I meant Gerald."

"I don't want to go into it. Let's Just say some people aren't cut out for dealing with the 'difficult' periods life has to offer." Mrs Appleby snapped as she grabbed one corner of the tarpaulin, nodding her head and indicating for Tiffany to grab the opposite corner. Following her lead and heading to the other side of the huge cover, Tiffany grabbed the material and lifted, Mrs Appleby doing the same as her frail arms worked over time, the equipment hidden away beneath suddenly coming into view and knocking the breath from Tiffany's lungs. Continuing to pull, the two women feverishly worked in unison as they finally removed the whole cover, Mrs Appleby stepping back and placing her hand over her mouth. The gleaming red body of the 1959 Plymouth Fury seemed to glow as the dust settled across the hood, the curves of the double barrelled fenders seeming to sparkle as the floating headlights appeared beneath, the front grill dazzling as the sunlight flowed through the barn door and illuminated the metal leviathan, rising from the ashes of its hay strewn prison as it finally found release from the darkness. As the tarpaulin flapped to the ground, the car seemed to glow majestically as the two women stood in awe, Tiffany never expecting anything quite like the sight that sat before her right now.

"Holy fuck!" She gasped as she took a step towards the car, bending over and creating a sun visor with the back of her hand, protecting her eyes from the influx of light. The interior was immaculate, the leather upholstery seemingly brand new, the myriad of dials and buttons gracing the cockpit like something from a present day jet. As she stood back and allowed her eyes to run down the length of the car, front to back, Tiffany ran her fingers along the body work, the two door sports vehicle of yester-year feeling like heaven to the fingertips as she reached the end of the car, the fins rising gracefully as the roof of the vehicle tapered into the trunk section.

"Quite the sight isn't it?" Mrs Appleby crossed her arms and smiled.

"She's beautiful." Tiffany smiled, looking to the old woman, before returning her gaze to the automobile.

"She?" Mrs Appleby looked confused.

"Its a she..." Tiffany smirked as she allowed her fingertips to caress the end of the rear fin. "No mistake."

"My Gerald thought it was a 'she'." Mrs Appleby laughed, her cackle slowly morphing into a chesty cough.

Looking to the floor, Tiffany eyes the wheels over, not a mark evident as she walked slowly around the car. She'd never been one for fast cars, flash cars or expensive cars, but even she had to marvel at the condition of this vehicle, not seeming to age one minute, sleeping in some form of stasis as the past thirty-four years thundered along outside the barn. The white wall tyres were offset by the most sublime hub caps, the polish reflecting the interior of the barn, the curve of the steel fixture lending a convex tone to the image flashed back.

"How long as this been in here?" Tiffany asked as she came to a standstill beside Mrs Appleby.

"Almost five years." She answered. "One of the last things my Gerald did, take it for a drive. After that, who knows what he was thinking. Next morning, I woke up and found him on the couch. Poured himself a large glass of bourbon, laced it with rat poison. When I came down, he was stiff as a board, like he'd been convulsing. I'll never forget he had this look of fear in his eyes. Try as I may I can't get that image out of my mind."

"Jesus." Tiffany whispered.

"Doctors said it was the strychnine that did it." She continued. "Said he'll have used that because it was odourless, tasteless when mixed with the bourbon, and he didn't need much. Just a small amount would've caused a man of Gerald's age severe problems."

"I'm so sorry." Tiffany placed a hand on Mrs Appleby's shoulder, the frail woman breathing sigh as she dug into the pocket of her apron and fished around, removing her hand and revealing the keys to the mighty beast before them.

"What say we take it for a drive?" She asked, handing the keys to Tiffany.

"Me?" Tiff seemed shocked.

"What? You think a little old woman like me could ever drive that thing?" She laughed. "Oh no, I wouldn't be able to. It's been too long. My arms aren't as strong as they once were."

"I could probably do it." Tiffany gently took the keys. "It's been years, but I have my license... Somewhere."

"When was the last time you drove?" Mrs Appleby asked as they approached the car, Tiffany inserting the key in the driver's door and turning, hearing the click as the door opened in her hand.

"Probably about 1987." She answered. "But they say you never fully forget."

Pulling open the passenger door, Mrs Appleby slumped into the seat beside Tiffany, confusion reigning across her features as she furrowed her brow.

"So how the hell did you escape from the police?" She asked, puzzled.

"When?" Tiffany spun to face her, as surprised as her passenger.

"When you tried to kill that young man." Mrs Appleby enquired innocently.

"That was self defence!" Tiffany snapped automatically.

Mrs Appleby shrugged her shoulders, as though to say 'whatever'.

"If you say so dear." She muttered under her breath as Tiffany inserted the key in the ignition. "So how in the hell did you escape when you'd 'defended yourself' then?"

"If you must know I caught a train." Tiffany replied, concentrating as she turned the key in the chamber, the engine attempting briefly to fire into life but having none of it.

"A train?" Mrs Appleby repeated her, closing her eyes and shaking her head slowly as she did so. "You simply have to be the stupidest girl I've ever met."

Tiffany released the key, surprised, but not entirely shocked at the insult hurled her way. Taking a deep breath and giving it a few seconds, Tiffany once more turned the key, the engine labouring once more, the starter motor struggling as the engine attempted to turn over, but once more she released the key, failure the outcome once more.

"It won't start." She sighed. "Not surprised though, how long its been sat here."

"Ah well." Mrs Appleby opened her door and began to climb back out of the car. "I'll head into the store and call Ed Thompson. He'll send someone to look at it. Hell of a shame to leave it here gathering dust any longer."

"Sure would be." Tiffany looked in the rear mirror and adjusted her hair, held up by a bright red bandana. Watching from the interior of the car, she monitored Mrs Appleby as the old woman left the barn and shuffled her feet across the dirt track, the back of the store directly opposite the barn doors, watching still as Mrs Appleby entered the store and headed to the phone in the office.

"So this is the problem?" The mechanic stood in the entry to the barn, dropping his tool bag and making to stroll across the empty floor. Standing at about six feet tall, built like a pro athlete and with enough stubble gracing his chin to ignite a match, Tiffany had followed like a moth to a light bulb, curious about the first 'proper' man she had laid eyes on in almost three years.

"It sounded like it was trying to start." She chipped in as she handed him the keys. "But nothing, it just wouldn't turn over."

"Probably be something and nothing." The mechanic smiled as he took the keys and opened the door, flicking the hood release catch and jamming the keys into the ignition, trying to start the car once more. Nothing. "Can't be usual wear and tear. There's only seven thousand on the clock."

"Jesus." Tiffany crossed her arms, pushing her breasts up as she did so. "It's hardly been used then?"

"Either that or it's a fake and old lady Appleby's planning on ripping somebody off." The mechanic smiled broadly, standing from the interior of the car and making his way to the hood. Slipping his fingers beneath the rim of the hood, he found the latch and flicked it, the mechanism releasing the hood fully as he lifted it high above his head extended the support.

"You never know." Tiffany laughed, joining in the joke. "Wouldn't be the first time. You should see what she charges me for cigarettes."

"Yeah, you think that too?" He laughed as he extended a lightly greased palm in Tiffany's direction. "Name's Joe."

"Tiffany." She answered, giggling as she shook, his hand feeling rough and firm around hers.

"So..." He asked, head bowed under the hood. "Don't take this the wrong way, but... Are you one of Appleby's strays?"

"How do you mean?" Tiffany asked.

"This whole probation thing she enrolled on out of the blue a few years back." Joe answered, his hands working over the engine as he wiggled wires, jostled parts and generally let his fingers wander over anything and everything.

"Afraid so." Tiffany sighed. Why did he have to fetch that up? Looking at him now, bent over the engine, his huge arms labouring away, his no doubt perfect ass buried beneath the greasy overalls, Tiffany would guess him to be around the forty year mark. Maybe a few years less. Regardless of age though, Tiffany had to agree, he certainly made her legs shake as he stood bolt upright and turned his attention to her.

"Don't be downhearted." He allowed an apologetic look to appear. "We all fuck up now and then. Important thing is to focus on now, not then. You're new round here, once people get to know you you'll be fine."

"I hope so." Tiff agreed. "I've only been here a week and I can't tell whether the old girl likes me or not. One minute she's making me breakfast, next she's calling me the stupidest girl she ever met. Seems like I can't win. I mean, why enrol on this probation thing if she's not prepared to be a little more welcoming."

"Meh... I don't know." Joe smiled as he returned his attention to the engine, talking over his shoulder as he set to work with his screwdriver. "Appleby's always been like that. She must have a reason for having you here. Just see what happens."

"I guess so." Tiffany sighed, leaning her back against the front of the car, her elbows resting against the rim of the hood as she slowly allowed her hips to bounce slowly back and forth, the car beginning to move slightly under the slight strain. "So, you live around here then?"

"Yep." Joe answered, his voice straining as he fiddled with the engine. "Born and raised."

"In this town?" Tiffany asked once more.

"Na, I live about two miles down the road. There's a trailer park." He turned to Tiffany. "Mountain Peak? You not see it on the way up?"

"No, I was asleep half the way here." She answered honestly, something of a rarity these days.

"Oh yeah, you'll have come off the interstate, then down the highway." Joe suddenly snapped something off in his hands, gratification filling his voice as he hollered. "Well I'll be damned."

"What is it?" Tiffany asked, bending forward and pulling a cigarette from her pack, just about to ignite her lighter as Joe reached out and snatched it from her hand.

"You might now want to do that." He said. "I don't really feel like being blown through the roof of this barn today."

"Sorry." She laughed, half embarrassed, craning her head into the engine as Joe did the same. "What is it?"

"Carburettor's blocked." He pointed into the chamber, the straw and various other pieces littering the intake pipe.

"Meaning?" Tiffany enquired.

"Meaning," Joe started as he smiled and pointed through the parts of the carburettor. "The air intake's blocked. Maybe something's been nesting in here at some point. No air means no mixture, means no starting the engine. Give me a minute and I'll clean it out. We should be good to go then. Everything else looks okay. I checked the battery and there's still a damn good charge in that thing."

"Really?" Tiffany seemed stunned. "I thought you were going to say it was done for. Offer her $50 to take it away."

"Na." Joe laughed as he fished around his tool bag. "Don't get me wrong, me and Appleby don't exactly see eye to eye. But I'm not in the business of ripping people off. Beside which, Mr Thompson would probably have something to say about that."

"He's your boss?" She asked once more.

"Yeah." Joe answered. "Damn good one too."

Less than a minute had passed, Joe ushering Tiffany into the driver's seat and encouraging her to try and start the car.

"Give it a little gas when you're turning the key." He said, bent over the enormous engine once more, monitoring for activity as he waited for the combustion to occur. "And make sure it's in neutral. I don't feel like getting run over either."

Turning the key, the car coughed and spluttered, the engine rattling as Tiffany gave the throttle some pressure, suddenly igniting and roaring into life as Tiffany revved the engine, plumes of black smoke ejected from the twin exhausts as the barn became engulfed in a thick smog.

"That oughtta do it." Joe yelled over the volume of the ravenous V8 engine as the machines coughs turned into a fierce growl, Tiffany removing her foot from the throttle and allowing the engine quieten down, coming to rest and levelling out instantly, purring beautifully as Joe threw his tools into his bag.

"It sounds amazing." Tiffany beamed as she climbed from the car, just as Joe dropped the hood, the latch instantly securing itself on beneath the huge sheet of metal. "How much does she owe you?"

"Don't worry about it." Joe waved his hands at the suggestion of money. "I was only here ten minutes. If Mr Thompson asks, I'll just tell him you'd got it started by the time I got here."

"Seriously?" Tiffany asked, surprised. "Is there anything else she could do for you?"

"Not really." Joe shrugged as he grabbed his bag from the floor. "But I guess you could maybe give me your phone number."

"My number?" Tiffany laughed.

"Just for if I need an extra pair of hands some time soon." Joe smiled, his face covered in black soot ejected from the exhausts just moments before, snapping to attention as Mrs Appleby's voice roared behind him, audible over the now smooth engine of the Plymouth.

"That won't be necessary." She spoke, her voice flat and without emotion as she entered the barn, coming to a stop between Joe and Tiffany.

"But Mrs Appleby..." Tiff started, cut down immediately as Mrs Appleby raised her voice, attention focused on Joe.

"I said that won't be necessary."

"Well uhh, I guess I'd better get going then." Joe sheepishly smiled, his eyes falling to the floor, as though just berated by an old school mistress.

"Thank you Mr Cox." Mrs Appleby's wrinkled face had turned lifeless as she followed Joe through the doors of the barn, calling after him as he crossed to the parking lot and climbed into his truck. "Tell Mr Thompson to send me a bill. I don't want to owe anybody anything!"

Kicking up the engine of the truck, Joe found first gear and gave it some gas, pulling away quickly as the truck lurched onto the road and headed back to the garage, Mrs Appleby now turning and finding the frame of Tiffany Valentine looming over her in shock.

"What the hell..." She started, gesturing with her arm in the direction of Joe, then quickly towards the now running car.

"You don't want to be associated with that man." Mrs Appleby calmly spoke.

"But..." Tiffany tried to get a word in, failing again.

"Nor any man." Mrs Appleby motioned with the flat of her hand in a cutting manner. "Best you just get your head down and do what I need you for."

"So I'm not allowed to be friends with men?" She spat.

"I told you last week." She turned, spitting back, tension kicked up a notch. "Rule number two I believe it was... No men!"

"But why?" Tiffany asked.

"Never you mind why." Mrs Appleby immediately retorted. "We'll have no more talk of men. Next thing I hear about it, you'll be sent back to that hell hole."

Standing in disbelief, Tiffany watched, heartbroken as Mrs Appleby shuffled from the barn and back into the store, the door slamming behind her as she entered the office and sat behind her desk, the silhouette of the old hag visible through the frosted glass. With nothing else left to say, Tiffany simply reached into the car and killed the engine, the calmness and serenity of the quiet June morning completely unnoticed as she dropped the keys into her pocket and very quietly said one word.

"Cunt!"

As lunch rolled around Tiffany looked from her seat behind the cash register and spied the clock hanging above the entrance to the store. Figuring now was as good a time as any, she gently rose from and crossed the floor, dodging between the parallel, shoulder height aisles of canned goods, beers and produce, reaching the door and flipping the sign in the window, the words 'Closed For Lunch' now visible to any potential customers as Tiffany slid the latch across and headed to the back of the store. The door nestled in the rear of the store sat open, the wedge jammed beneath propping it open as the summer breeze whistled through. As Tiffany approached she could see outside, the barn opposite the back of the store and across the dirt track still lying wide open as the sun shifted along the horizon, the shadow cast by the surrounding pine trees now covering the entrance. Turning and kicking the wooden wedge to the side, Tiffany pulled the door closed, twisting the key in the lock before turning and heading down the right hand side of the barn and towards the seemingly never-ending marathon of steps leading up to the monstrous house above. As the sun beat down, burning the skin on the back of Tiffany's neck, she took a deep breath and paused for a second to appreciate the various smells and sounds nature had to offer. A life spent among the crowds, centralised populations and multi-storey dwellings had stripped Tiffany's life of nature, something she had started to realise this last week as she sat, night after night, in the bedroom of Mrs Appleby's house and took in the view, the house standing tall and allowing Tiffany to survey the view over Mount Carroll with ease. As birds sang high up among the branches of the surrounding woodland, Tiffany continued to climb the steps, arriving at the front door of the house and letting herself in, the door closing quietly behind her. Heading through the hall of the huge house, Tiffany passed the foot of the stairs to her right and headed to the kitchen, the huge trunk locked and resting by the door as she entered. Tiffany had tried asking again about the contents, but straight answers seemed not to be Mrs Appleby's strong point. As she turned her attention to the far side of kitchen, Tiffany was hardly surprised to find Mrs Appleby, flustered as she rooted through the refrigerator, pots and pans resting along the counter top as she turned and found Tiffany in the doorway, a joyful look spread across her face.

"The hell are you so happy about?" She asked, Tiffany taking a few steps forward as she placed her arms behind her back and grinned.

"I've been thinking." She started.

"If it's about that Joe fella then forget it." Mrs Appleby turned her attention towards the refrigerator once more.

"You really don't like him do you?" Tiffany laughed, trying to let it go over her head.

"Let's just say I have good reason." Mrs Appleby muttered.

"Which is?" Tiffany pushed, sensing an answer impending.

"Look..." Mrs Appleby slammed the door of the refrigerator, turning to Tiffany as she gestured, palms outstretched, a pissed look upon her wrinkled face. "Let's just leave it. He's no good for you. Besides which you seemed pretty certain last week that men were the last thing you were interested in. I'm even beginning to wish you were a damned lesbian now."

"Fucks sake." Tiffany sighed, dropping her smile and allowing the frustration to show. Before she knew it Appleby was upon her, a stinging blow delivered to Tiffany's left ear as her hand arced through the air and landed with a 'slap'.

"What did I tell you about your language?" She spat as she turned and started across the kitchen, back to her rows of pots and pans. "We'll have some respect in this house!"

"Jesus!" Tiffany's hand flew up to her ear, the sting turning into a dull throb.

"That goes for blasphemy as well." Mrs Appleby turned and raised a finger.

"I only came up here to offer to help you out, you stupid old witch!" Tiffany found herself yelling, immediately regretting it as her free hand clamped automatically across her mouth.

"What did you call me?" Mrs Appleby spun again. Tiffany had seen too sides to the old goat since day one, but this was an additional dimension. A fierce, fired up demon suddenly set loose as she stared into Tiffany's eyes.

"I only came up to offer to help you." Tiffany removed her hand from her mouth and attempted to make the peace.

"Help me how?" Appleby backed down, curious.

"It just seems every day you do all the cooking, while I'm down in that store serving maybe one person an hour." Tiffany pleaded. "Which made me think."

"Go on." Appleby urged her to continue.

"I want to cook you a meal." Tiffany gushed. "As a thank you."

"For what?"

"Just for having me hear. I mean there are worse places right?" Tiffany laughed.

"I see." The old girl seemed taken aback at the request. "What were you wanting to cook?"

"I don't know." Tiffany seemed struck by confidence, not expecting to get this far, Mrs Appleby very protective of her recently refurbished kitchen. "I do good Swedish meatballs."

"Hmmm..." Mrs Appleby narrowed her eyes as the cogs began to rotate in her head. "Don't think I've ever tried those."

"Really?" Tiffany seemed surprised, enthusiastic, the chance to finally do something useful beckoning her on.

"Don't think I ever will either." Mrs Appleby spat, turning and opening a cupboard door, beginning to work her way through an assortment of cans and sachets. "Thank you for the offer Tiffany, but it's okay. I can't do much these days, cooking is one of the rare times I'm able to feel like my old self."

"Whatever." Tiffany murmured, turning to leave the kitchen, spinning straight into the face of Rita Hernandez, her olive skin glowing as the sunlight swept in through the kitchen windows, her sudden appearance causing Tiffany to jump a mile.

"Afternoon ladies." Rita smiled, Mrs Appleby craning her head back to see what the sudden commotion was.

"Rita." She began, shuffling across the tiled floor of the kitchen. "My dear girl, I'd completely forgotten you were calling in. That time of the week already?"

"Sure is." Rita gave Mrs Appleby a hug as she spoke. "You have Tiffany's time sheets?"

"Just give me one second." Mrs Appleby nodded. "They're in my study."

Slowly creaking along, heading towards the study as she left the kitchen, Tiffany found herself alone with Rita, sensing something amiss, the friendly tone and idle chit chat completely missing as Rita leaned against the kitchen counter and stood in silence, her eyes focusing anywhere and everywhere except Tiffany's vicinity as she pulled out a chair and sat at the kitchen table.

"At least the weather's changed." Tiffany awkwardly joked.

"I guess so." Rita replied, her tone void of any enthusiasm as she continued to scan the kitchen.

"Did you have a nice drive?" Tiffany tried once more, struggling to find a conversation starter.

"It's been a long day Tiffany." Rita suddenly focused on her. "It's only just gone lunch time and I've had to drive all the way out here for nothing but a hand full of time sheets."

"Yeah, that's gotta be a pain in the ass." Tiffany nodded, unsure how to follow up. "Sorry."

"It's not your fault." Rita sighed, the frosty atmosphere melting away slightly.

"Mrs Appleby's a little strange don't you think?" Tiffany whispered. "She can be okay, but this place isn't me at all. Are you sure I couldn't have something nearer the city?"

"Look Tiffany." Rita started. "You don't seem to understand that this is still part of your sentence. This whole thing is still the state punishing you, and if I were you I'd enjoy it while you can."

"Meaning what exactly?" Tiffany sat stunned at the words to leave Rita's mouth.

"Nothing." Rita crossed her arms and closed her eyes, deep in thought. "Just ignore me. I'm working on something pretty big for an old friend. I'm just a little stressed, that's all."

"Fair enough." Tiffany replied as she stood, not saying another word as she left the kitchen, almost crashing into Mrs Appleby as she headed to the stairs, the sanctuary of her room not able to come quick enough.

"What's gotten into her?" Mrs Appleby smiled, returning to the kitchen and handing the paperwork to Rita.

"I think she's feeling a little homesick." Rita smiled awkwardly.

"Missing prison?" Mrs Appleby seemed stunned.

"No, no, no..." Rita laughed. "The city. She's very out of her natural habitat in this town. She'll be okay though, just give her time."

"Well, if you're sure that's all it is." Mrs Appleby spoke with a concerned tone, Rita reaching out and rubbing the frail old woman's arm.

"She'll be fine." She replied. "Tell me. Has she been behaving herself?"

"Oh Rita, she's been an absolute angel." Mrs Appleby beamed as she answered, her sickly sweet voice soothing. "I seriously don't know what I'd do without her now she's here. I just wish I had her for longer than the eighteen months."

"Well I wouldn't get too attached." Rita exhaled as she spoke. "Statistics show that people like Tiffany, no matter how hard they try, usually revert to type and end up back inside."

"Oh I'm sure that won't be the case. Like I said, she'd been an absolute god-send this last week." Mrs Appleby smiled.

"Well that's good to hear." Rita stood upright, pushing herself from the kitchen counter as she spoke. "But don't let her take advantage of you, and remember to always carry your emergency alarm. I hate the thought of you being stuck out here with the girls I leave you with. No matter how many times we've been through this it doesn't get any easier. She was in prison for a reason, this 'nice' act is probably just hiding some hidden agenda."

"Oh Rita now give up." The old lady grabbed Rita's shoulder. "Seriously, the poor girl's been through a lot from what I can piece together. I honestly think it's her that should be more worried about me and my 'agenda' at times."

"Well I guess we'll see." Rita laughed, Mrs Appleby's words calming her slightly as she gave her a hug goodbye and set off back to her car, the descent from the top of the steps a lot easier than the climb upwards. As she reached the sedan, parked down the side of the barn, Rita yanked the car door open and felt the coldness creep across her shoulders, a shudder down the length of her spine as she threw her bag onto the passenger seat and spun to face the house, the sunlight to the south-west causing the windows to reflect the brilliant sunlight as she squinted her eyes, unable to make out whether or not she was indeed being watched. Tiffany no doubt sat in her room, calling her all the names her limited vocabulary would allow as she cursed Rita's attitude and definitely cursed the fact she was stuck in this dead end town for the following year and a half. Thinking now, Rita began to wish she'd made more of an effort. Not with Tiffany per se, but more in the way she handled the situation. True she found it incredibly hard to converse with, or even look at, Tiffany right now, and with every right as far as Rita was concerned. Several sickening thoughts clouded her attitude as she tried over the last seven days to fight the feeling, failing every time as she ended up back at square one, a sixth sense pushing her to find out more, even if it turned out to be nothing but a heightened sense of suspicion. Rita couldn't, in fact wouldn't, rest until she had at least investigated and either put an end to, or confirmed, these doubts once and for all. But as far as she was concerned, time was on her side. Tiffany had a schedule to stick to, reporting to the local sheriff's office as per the conditions of her probation, and Mrs Appleby would surely raise the alarm if anything untoward was to happen in the mean time. Now she thought about it, she felt more relaxed, willing to let the charade play out as long as it needed.

Tiffany Valentine was going nowhere.

As the sun set upon another glorious summer day, Rita Hernandez pulled the nose of her sedan into the parking lot of the four storey office block before her, twisting the key in the ignition and allowing the engine to die instantly. Throwing open her door, she quickly grabbed her bag and the assortment of files littering her passenger seat, before standing and catching the last rays of sunlight, the street lights surrounding the offices suddenly flickering into life as they prepared for another nights hard work, illuminating the sidewalks for various drunks, muggers and vagrants. Slamming the door to the sedan, Rita placed her key in the lock and gave it a jiggle, the satisfying 'click' indicating the car was now secure as she turned and headed to the office, the windows of the building before her mainly darkened as the majority of the work force finished whatever duties they had and headed home for the night. Entering the building, the door swung behind her and gently eased itself closed as Rita felt the chill of the air conditioning ducts above her, the corridor offering a cooler climate than the one she had been used to all day, racing from point A to point B as she made her routine checks on all cases assigned to her by the state of Illinois, some welcoming, some intimidating, but none as interesting as the case she had been assigned recently, Tiffany Valentine providing no end of sleepless nights for the past seven days. As she reached the end of the corridor and headed up the concrete staircase, Rita felt the ice cold metal of the rail as her hand automatically shot out and grabbed it for balance, reaching her floor in no time at all and heading into the vast office space before her, the rows of cubicles and desks assembled, sitting completely empty, the second floor entirely void of life. With a sigh, Rita dropped the files, the paperwork landing on the surface of her desk with a sickening thud as she allowed her body to drop into the chair before kicking off her heels and rubbing her feet, massaging the ball of her foot through her nylon pantyhose as she stretched her toes. It had been a long day, no mistake. As far as she was concerned, the files in front of her right now could wait until tomorrow, all promises of catching up and taking it easy the following day disappearing immediately as Rita surveyed the pile of paperwork now sat before her, suddenly noticing something strangely amiss. The inbox tray of her stacker occupied with a file of some sort, the brow, dated, file sitting within puzzling Rita for a second before her mind snapped into action and realised. Reaching out and grabbing the file, Rita tore it open, her eyes lighting up as she held it in her hands, her own personal holy grail as she devoured the front page in no time at all, the file giving all details of the unsolved murder of Chicago Police Departments recently deceased Officer Harry Marsh. Flicking through the pages, Rita sought out the relevant information, missing it at first, such was her enthusiasm, but eventually skipping back over the details and finding the date of Officer Marsh's murder. 

'September 18th 1990'

Mind racing, Rita placed the open file across her lap and dived into the tower of files sitting on the desk, taking less than a minute to find the paperwork she needed, the file of one Tiffany Valentine. Flicking open her file, her eyes began to flit across the various details once more, steadier than before as she searched and searched, eventually stopping as she found the details of Tiffany's case, pupils dilating as she let the information sink in. Arrested for the attempted murder of one Evan Carter. The date of the event? 

'September 18th 1990'

Mind galloping, Rita instinctively reached out, swinging her arm across her desk and sweeping the huge mountain of paperwork to the floor before carefully laying the respective files of Harry Marsh and Tiffany Valentine side by side. Flicking from one file to the other, Rita attempted to seek out any other 'coincidences', finding more than one as she scribbled frantically in her notepad, hand struggling to keep up with her brain as she began to smile, knowing she was onto something as the more she read, the more she realised the week of sleepless nights and nagging feelings were apparently not in vein. Just as Evan Carter had been stabbed in the midriff, the blade of Tiffany's peculiar shaped knife only just missing three vital organs, Officer Marsh had also been victim of a knife wound. Only Marsh's murder had apparently been multiple lacerations to the throat, the old man bleeding out in no time at all as whoever had committed the act made their getaway from the underpass near the 7/11. It was as she read details of the location of Marsh's murder, that Rita sensed another possible connection, reaching for her bag now sat beside her desk and yanking it open immediately, reaching inside and grabbing the street map from within. To somebody in Rita's profession, constantly driving, new places, old places, wherever she was sent, a street map had proven an invaluable thing over the last few years. Flipping the pages, her eyes looked on as the street names whizzed by, eventually coming to a stop as she found the street, the underpass, the scene of Harry's murder. Eyes returning to Tiffany's file, she absorbed information with very little effort, finding the scene of the Evan Carter incident and turning back to her street map, quickly locating the address given in Tiffany's file. Dropping the book to her desk, Rita had a little laugh as she shook her head and smiled. Officer Harry Marsh and Evan Carter had more in common than anybody else had noticed. Not only were they attacked on the same date, but according to the coroner's report in Marsh's file, they were attacked within an hour of each other and by a person wielding a knife. Now, as Rita stared at the two addresses given in her street map, she felt exhilarated as she noticed the two incidents were separated by a mere 20 minute walk. She was onto something here, and she knew it, reaching for the phone sat innocently at the edge of her desk and lifting the receiver. Dialling the same internal number as before, she sat and waited, the ringing seeming to go on and on as she patiently waited, all the while a voice inside her head screaming 'PICK UP', interrupted as the voice on the other line blared into life.

"It's me again." She said, giving the voice on the other end no time to offer a simple greeting.

"I figured as much." The voice answered sarcastically. "What is it now? You want me to head down archives and get the JFK file?"

"Be serious Will." Rita scolded her friend. "The Marsh file..."

"I dropped it up on your desk this afternoon." Will protested.

"I know." Rita hurriedly spoke. "I'm looking at it now, and there's something I'm working on. I don't want to tell you what, but I need another favour."

"Do you realise how busy we are down here?" Will asked.

"I know, and I really would appreciate this." Rita pleaded, the silence from the other end almost deafening to her. Eventually Will sighed.

"What do you need now?" He asked.

"I need you to search for any evidence from the scene. Anything at all. Anything you guys have, even if it's nothing much. I'm onto something here."

"The Marsh case?" Will asked, surprised. "Really?"

"Yes." Rita replied. "All I need is you to search for any evidence at all. No matter how big or small."

"From what I remember there wasn't much." Will answered her, his voice seeming bereft of any optimism.

"Please Will." Rita pleaded once more as silence again rained down the line.

"Let me see what I can do." Will said. "But we're kinda busy down here. I don't know how long it'll be before I can get back to you with whatever we have, which may be nothing."

"Thank you." Rita whispered, placing the receiver back in the cradle of her office phone. Sitting back, Rita closed the two files and reached down to her right hand side, pulling open the bottom drawer of her desk and lifting a tin of cookies, placing the two files underneath.

"I'll get her for you Harry." She whispered before standing from her desk and turning off the lights.

Tonight, Rita Hernandez was going to get some sleep.

Locking the front door of Appleby's store, Tiffany flicked the sign from 'Open' to 'Closed' and looked out into the darkness of the dusty parking lot. The heat had certainly picked up in the afternoon, Tiffany on the brink of passing out at one point as Mrs Appleby had her stacking the shelves and sweeping the floors. She'd only swept up earlier that morning, so the effort had been at a minimum when she had been asked, no 'told', to do it again later, Mrs Appleby once again sitting in her throne, barking orders from the back office. As she walked the length of the aisles and headed back toward the cash register, Tiffany was startled by a ringing sound coming from the back office. She'd not heard it ring in the first week she'd been there, so it had been a bit of a surprise for it to suddenly start ringing now, the high pitched noise reverberating around the wooden walls of the store and growing in volume all the more. Heading into the office and flicking on the light, Tiffany grabbed the receiver from the desk and spoke.

"Appleby's Store." She sarcastically spat, putting on her very best, sugar coated voice as she played with her hair.

"Tiffany?" The voice spoke, causing Tiffany to quit playacting and act seriously.

"Yes?" She asked.

"Hey, it's Joe." The voice cheerfully replied.

"Joe..." Tiffany cast her eyes to the heavens as she tried to recall the name.

"From this morning?" He laughed. "I got that old rust bucket started for old lady Appleby."

"Oh yeah." Tiffany laughed. "Sorry, it's just been a long day. The heat too."

"Yeah, tell me about it." Joe laughed again.

"What can I do for you sweetface?" Tiffany asked, playing with her hair again.

"Well, you probably got the red light from the dragon up in the castle, but I wondered if you fancied going out one night?" He asked, Tiffany could sense the anxiety in his voice.

"What do you mean 'got the red light'?" Tiffany asked.

"No doubt you've been told stay away from me." He replied. "Didn't you feel the tension after she came out to the barn?"

"I wouldn't be too worried." Tiffany started. "I'm sure I can work my magic on 'the dragon up in the castle'."

"You're kidding." Joe laughed. "So is that a yes?"

"Let me check my diary and I'll get back to you." Tiffany beamed. "Call again tomorrow and we'll arrange something."

"Sure thing." Joe laughed. "I'll call back tomorrow night."

"Speak soon." Tiffany teased as she replaced the phone, her lips curling into the most seductive smile as she crossed the floor of the office and hit the light switch, the small room descending into darkness at once. Mrs Appleby was going to be hard work. But Tiffany had a feeling she could talk her round, one way or another. It was just going to take one hell of a charm offensive.

Stood looking through the lounge window of the huge house, Mrs Appleby's eyes fell to the back of the store as the lights flickered into life, Tiffany's silhouette cast from the office window as the phone continued to ring, answered in no time at all as the noise suddenly ceased. Carefully picking up the phone by her side, Mrs Appleby kept quiet as she held the receiver firmly to her ear, the words exchanged between Tiffany and Joe causing outrage and anger as Mrs Appleby listened in, feeling her blood begin to boil, her warnings completely ignored as Tiffany actively encouraged Joe, her tone teasing as her high pitched voice echoed down the line. She had hoped that Tiffany would put this fleeting moment of lust behind her, realise what a stupid move she would be making, as Mrs Appleby threatened to have her taken away, thrown back to the wolves of Logan Correctional Centre if she pursued a relationship with that man.

Not just that man either.

Any man at all.

Of course Mrs Appleby had been bluffing as she'd made these threats. That was the thing that angered her most, the fact that her one and only method of keeping Tiffany in line had gone completely unheeded. But no... It appeared that she would have to let Tiffany have her fun. Hope the poor girl got it out of her system. Because in all honesty, the very last thing she wanted was for Tiffany to be taken from her.

That wouldn't benefit her in the long run.

Not one bit.


	15. Chapter 3-4

Chapter 3.4

July 10th 1993 (Three Weeks Later)

Looking through the window of the sedan and over the horizon to her left, Rita Hernandez watched on as the rain clouds gathered, crossing the surrounding fields at an astonishing rate. Wind battered the side of the car as it sped along, the chassis rocking under the force of the gale as spots of rain began to steadily hit the glass, the weather warning emitted from the radio as a crash of thunder shook the heavens, a solitary crackle of lightning arcing through the bleak July afternoon. Turning her attention back towards the road, Rita couldn't help but think, her mind repeatedly recalling the events of the morning as she arrived at work to a pleasant surprise. That is if there was such a thing these days, the post-it note stuck to the inside of Rita's desk drawer asking her to call Forensics at once, her hands shaking in anticipation as she proceeded to grab the receiver and dial.

"Forensics..." The familiar voice piped up as the line came alive.

"It's me..." Rita whispered, taking a look around as the office buzzed with activity.

"About time." Will laughed. "Not one for early starts huh?"

"Traffic." Rita responded without thinking. "Never a good start to the day."

"Well I've a feeling your day could be about to get a little bit better." Will's voice quietened slightly as he spoke, the hairs on the back of Rita's neck beginning to stand as one.

"You have it?" She asked.

"I have... 'something'." Will hesitated.

"'Something'?" Rita asked confused. "I don't understand... Either you have something or not."

The line fell dead, the silence seeming to stretch on for much longer than the few seconds it actually did.

"It's better you just come down here." Will sighed. "Easier too."

Lifting her left arm and tilting her head, Rita took a glance at her wrist watch.

"Give me half an hour." She snapped, already standing as she dropped the phone back in the cradle, grabbing her bag and shoving Tiffany's file inside.

The journey two blocks east usually took around twenty minutes. Today it took ten, the mid morning crowd bringing the streets to a standstill as civilians littered the streets and went about their days, oblivious to the panic now causing Rita to gallop along, her mind racing every bit as fast as her heart as she zipped through the throngs of people, ducking, squeezing and generally fitting through whatever gaps presented themselves. As she neared the six storey, red brick building that housed Chicago Police Departments highly skilled forensics team, Rita slowed to a quick walk, climbing the handful of steps and thundering through the revolving door, finding herself in the buildings reception area as she headed to the elevator and pressed the 'call' button. Minutes later, as she found herself, stalking the empty corridors of the third floor, Rita took a glance around as she came to a stop and pressed the buzzer to the security door, the voice crackling from within as she identified herself at once and heard the low buzz, the heavy 'click' of the lock sliding open and the door swinging slowly ajar, beckoning her in as she took another look across the corridor and disappeared inside, turning to close the door before heading into the lab.

"Jesus." Will yelled from across the lab, surprised as he turned to look at the clock on the wall, his coffee steaming from the cup held firmly in his hand. He was a handsome man, no doubt, but not Rita's type. She'd always found herself drawn to the more rugged, macho guys. Not that Will wasn't toned, but rugged and macho definitely not. His clean shaven face, the crisp white lab coat, black, shoulder length hair well groomed and held impeccably in place. Standing at around six feet tall, Rita thought of him more as gangly than tall, noticing the softness of his hands as he reached out and pulled her in, squeezing the life from her as he hugged her tight. "Good to see the desk job hasn't slowed you down."

"No shit." Rita struggled for breath as Will continued to squeeze. "You mind easing off a little?"

"Sorry." Will relinquished his grip, allowing Rita to take a step backwards.

"So..." Rita looked around the lab, the plethora of microscopes, filing cabinets and computer systems littering every conceivable workspace as a constant hum echoed, resonated around the spacious, yet incredibly vacant area. "You have 'something'?"

"Just this." Will turned, placing his coffee upon the surface of the table as he reached for a file. Grabbing the thin green folder, he turned back to Rita and handed her the paperwork, Rita gently taking it from his outstretched hand. Eyes hovering over the cover of the file Rita's brain worked overtime as she read the name gracing the front. 

_'_Marsh, Harry J. – Deceased  
09-18-1990'

"What exactly did we find?" Rita asked as she opened the file, the lack of paperwork making her heart sink as she flicked through the few pages at now at her disposal.

"Besides the missing evidence from that 'Killer Doll Case'? Not much." Will said as he exhaled deeply.

"Nothing?" Rita asked in shock. "Then what the hell did you call me down here for?"

"Well we did find something. But it led to nothing." Will smirked as he reached out, taking the file from Rita and flicking to the back of the papers, removing a thin, clear strip. A fine, powder-like dust covered the plastic strip, as Will held it up to the light and narrowed his eyes.

"Prints?" Rita asked in bewilderment.

"Prints!" Will smiled as he passed them to her, the dust staining Rita's fingers immediately.

"Where from?" Rita enquired as she turned the strip of finger prints over in her hand.

"Passenger side door handle." Will calmly answered as he held up a second slide, handing it to Rita slowly.

"And these?" Rita asked, studying the second slide of prints as she took them and handed the previous slide back to Will.

"Driver side window." Will answered. "We figured these belonged to the killer."

"How so?" Rita looked at him.

"Well..." Will started as he turned back to the file, now open on the desk as he pulled it towards them, the crime scene photographs now on view. Black and white shots of Officer Marsh's squad car now visible. Interior, exterior and surrounding area, shots of Marsh slumped forward, head buried deep in the centre of the steering wheel, his body beginning to bruise as blood congealed across his shirt and lap. "We figured the ones from the window belonged to the killer. The angle and trajectory of the cuts across Marsh's throat and hands indicate the attack coming from outside the car. Now, the prints from the window match the ones we found on the passenger door. Unfortunately that's where we hit a brick wall."

"Jesus." Rita whispered as she took in the images before her eyes, the graphic scenes making for uncomfortable viewing. "What do you mean you hit a brick wall?"

"No match... The prints weren't on the database." Will took a gulp of his coffee. "However... I have a feeling you're about to solve that problem."

"Maybe." Rita suddenly pulled the file from her bag, the name across the front visible to Will as he looked on in interest, taking the file as Rita thrust it towards him. 

'Valentine, Tiffany.'

"Friend of yours?" Will asked, opening the file.

"Not especially." Rita replied, distracted as she zipped her bag closed. "Probation case. Seems to know more than she should about this whole incident. Alarm bells started ringing from day one."

"I'm assuming you have her prints somewhere?" Will spun his head towards Rita as his hands manically worked through the papers.

"They should be in there." Rita craned her head over, perplexed, panic in her voice.

"Nothing here. Maybe you dropped them on the way over or something?" Will tried to reason.

"That's impossible! Unless..." Rita spat, her tone coated in frustration. "That little bitch! She's taken them... She must have."

"Maybe... But when?" Will asked.

"I don't know." Rita closed her eyes, thinking, attempting to remember a solitary moment Tiffany could have pounced. Suddenly it hit her, sending her reeling as she remembered that first time they had met. The diner as Tiffany accidentally dropped the first clue, the following drive up to Mount Carroll as Tiffany claimed to be tired, sleeping on the rear seat of Rita's sedan as her file lay just inches away. "The drive out to Mrs Appleby's!"

"Say that again?" Will seemed confused. "Who the hell's Mrs Appleby?"

"That doesn't matter." Rita shook her head and closed her eyes, deep in thought. "She said she needed a rest. I let her catch some sleep in the back of the car. I never thought. Her file was right there!"

"So she took them?" Will asked, seeking clarification.

"She must have done." Rita took a deep breath.

"You think she's on to you?" Will pushed as he closed Tiffany's file, handing it back. Rita shook her head once more, the cogs within her head still turning.

"No..." Rita answered. "I think she realised she fucked up in the diner. She realised that and took the prints to try and cover her tracks."

"You sure of that?" Will grimaced. "Because I just read her file, and if you're right about her being behind this whole Marsh thing then you really don't need to be walking into a situation where you're alone with her."

"She'd have made a break for it by now." Rita tried to assure Will as she spoke, her voice calm and poised.

"Well let's just hope you're right." His reply was more of concern than anything, turning and picking up the Marsh file.

"Nothing else on Marsh?" Rita asked as she bit her finger nail.

"Well there's just one thing bothering me..." He sighed as he flicked through the papers.

"Which is?"

"Where does this 'Killer Doll' case fit in to this whole thing?" Will asked. "He had evidence right there in the car."

"I don't know..." Rita pondered. "I really don't know..."

The rumbling feeling grew louder as Rita was pulled from her reminiscing, the pickup truck shooting past as the articulated lorry drew closer. Cutting across the front of Rita's sedan, a split second from impact with the monstrous vehicle, the pickup swerved, almost catching the front fender as Rita stomped on the brake pedal, the car screeching as the wheels locked up. Jamming the flat of her hand into the centre of the steering wheel, the horn blared from under the hood as the pickup hit the throttle and roared away, a cloud of dust from the shoulder of the interstate now clouding the view as Rita began to curse, a mixture of English and Spanish directed at the pickup truck. Looking up as the dust began to settle, Rita noticed the sign for Mount Carroll and began to think about her plan in finer detail.

She knew what she had to do.

"Rita." Mrs Appleby stood from her seat behind the cash register, a smile lighting up her face as she slowly shuffled towards her visitor.

"Hey Mrs Appleby." She beamed, taking a second to look for Tiffany, no sign as the store seemed deserted.

"I wasn't expecting you my dear." The old woman crowed, clapping her hands together and holding them across her waist.

"I know." Rita laughed. "I'm out this way on a personal errand. Just thought it easier to call in now, rather than trek out here later in the week."

"I see, I see." Mrs Appleby turned, shuffling back towards the counter, the office door waiting beyond. "Come into the office, I'll get Tiffany to make us a nice drink. You'll have a drink won't you?"

"Sure." Rita replied as she followed, taking another look for her suspect. "Tea, if that's alright."

"My dear girl you read my mind." Mrs Appleby turned her head and grinned, reaching the office door and twisting the knob, her voice suddenly ringing out across the vacant store. "TIFFANY!"

Silence...

"That girl." Appleby laughed. "Such an angel. She's most probably out in the barn."

"The barn?" Rita queried, puzzled.

"We got my Gerald's car going." The old girl beamed as she sat, inviting Rita to do the same as she placed her elbows across the top of the heavy wooden desk beneath her, causing Rita to flinch as she placed her bag beside her feet, Appleby's voice once more thundering through the air. "TIFFANY!"

Suddenly the door swung open, Tiffany appearing in the doorway. Dressed in a pair of overalls, hay sticking from her hair and dirt smeared across her face, she wiped her hands on a rag and spoke without looking up, oblivious to any company Mrs Appleby may have.

"I heard you for fucks sake!" The reply was sharp, a look of horror immediately rippling across her face as she looked up and cast her eyes toward Rita.

"We'll have less of your cheek young lady." Mrs Appleby intervened, breaking the silence. "Two cups of tea, but wash your hands first. Then when you've done that you can start stocking the wines and spirits like I asked you to do yesterday."

Without saying a word, Tiffany nodded, sheepishly turning on the spot and bolting from the office as she headed toward the house.

"She always speaks to you like that?" Rita asked, stunned but not surprised.

"Oh, we give and take." Mrs Appleby laughed. "I think it's just her way. She doesn't mean anything by it."

"Well I would hope not." Rita leaned back in the chair. "If she's any trouble I could always look at moving her on. Putting her with a different sponsor..."

"No!" Mrs Appleby bolted forward in her chair, an intensity to her tone suddenly giving way as she placed the palms of her hands across the desk and smiled sweetly. "That won't be necessary my dear. We're getting on like a house on fire. Seriously."

"If you're sure." Rita raised her eyebrows. "All you have to do is say."

"No, no." Mrs Appleby reassured her. "Like I say, we get on tremendously well. It's just her way. You can take the girl out of the city..."

"But you can't take the city out of the girl right?" Rita finished as Mrs Appleby began to laugh.

"Indeed my child, indeed."

Before they knew it, Tiffany had returned, a tray carrying two cups, a teapot and a plate of biscuits as she entered the office and laid the tray across the desk, giving Rita an embarrassed smile as she did so.

"How you doing Tiffany?" Rita asked, smiling through the hatred, obviously convincing as Tiffany answered in a cheerful tone.

"I'm doing well. You?"

"Oh I'm okay." Rita replied. "You look like you've been busy."

"Oh this?" Tiffany pointed to her hair, swept back in a ponytail, straw and cobwebs decorating her blonde locks. "Well apparently my duties now include clearing all the old crap out of Mrs Appleby's barn."

"Well, you are here to help." Rita laughed.

"Tell me about it." Tiffany snapped.

"Have you done the wines and spirits yet?" Mrs Appleby interrupted.

"No... I haven't had chance to..." Tiffany began, Mrs Appleby stopping her abruptly a she poured Rita a cup of tea, the steam escaping the cup and twirling into the air, highlighted as the sun streamed through the window of the office.

"Then what are you doing standing here gossiping? Come on, get to work."

"Fine." Tiffany responded through gritted teeth as she turned, slamming the office door closed behind her as she left, Mrs Appleby's words inspiring Rita, as an idea formed in her head.

Twenty minutes later the door to the office slowly opened, the voices from within growing in volume as the two women rose from their seats and emerged into the empty store, Tiffany the only presence as she knelt behind the counter and stacked the shelves with the aforementioned bottles of wine. Saying her goodbyes to the elderly Mrs Appleby and excusing her as she headed to the restroom, Rita approached the counter and leaned over, coughing quietly as Tiffany turned to face her from her position below.

"Hey." Tiffany smiled.

"How you doing?" Rita asked, not really caring for an answer, but trying her best to quash any ill feeling, reduce the chance of Tiffany freaking out.

"I'm good." Tiff answered. "I can't really complain. Mrs Appleby works me morning noon and night, but on the other hand she's one hell of a cook."

"I can imagine." Rita laughed as she ran her eyes over the assortment of wine, two of the bottles held firmly in Tiffany's fists. "What you got there?"

"I have no idea." Tiffany shook her head. "I don't get this 'merlot' and 'shiraz' thing. I always thought there were only two kinds of wine. Red and white..."

"Don't forget rose." Rita added.

"See what I mean?" Tiffany smiled.

"What's that you have in your hand? Is that a merlot?" Rita asked, opening her bag and fishing out a twenty dollar bill. "I'll take one of those."

Standing and placing the bottle of wine on the counter, Tiffany thought for a second before running her fingers across the cash register and punching in the numbers.

"That'll be $17." She smiled as the cash register flew open, the change inside rattling as it did so.

"Wow." Rita handed her the twenty dollar bill. "That's an expensive bottle of wine."

"You should try the cigarettes." Tiffany laughed as she took the money and dug around the tray of the cash register for Rita's change.

"It's okay." Rita motioned, closing her handbag. "Keep the change."

"You sure?" Tiffany asked.

"Yeah. Call it a bonus." Rita grinned. "Do you have a bag?"

"Yeah." Tiffany said, reaching beneath the counter and pulling out a plastic bag. Rita looked on as Tiffany proceeded to handle the merlot, her fingers working their way over the glass as she lifted the bottle and placed it in the plastic bag, handing it to Rita with a wide smile.

"Thanks Tiffany." Rita said as she grabbed the plastic bag and turned to leave the store. "I'll see you soon."

"No worries." Tiff replied, calling after Rita as she left the store. "Enjoy the wine."

"I'm sure I will." Rita muttered under breath as she left the store and headed across the dusty parking lot, reaching her car at a canter.

"I'm sure I will..."

Traffic had been quiet as Rita headed along the interstate, suddenly building as she entered the city, lines of traffic snaking through the road works as Rita cursed every set of lights. Why was it that the more important the task at hand, the more delays and interruptions she seemed to experience? The thought repeating in her head as she eventually pulled into the underground parking lot of the Chicago Police Department, manoeuvring into a parking bay and applying the handbrake, killing the engine quickly as she grabbed the files and bottle of wine from her front passenger seat. Locking the car and heading across the parking lot, Rita's quick walk turned into a steady jog as she reached the elevator and hit the switch, waiting as the numbers above the door ticked down, the doors eventually sliding silently open as Rita stepped inside and pressed the button for the third floor. Anxiously, Rita exited the elevator and instantly noticed the amount of people strolling the corridor, busier than her previous visit as she reached the door and pressed the switch, the intercom crackling into life once more.

"Yeah?" Will's voice came through, the static almost rendering him inaudible.

"It's me." Rita replied.

"I might have guessed." The sarcasm seemed to ooze through the speaker as it crackled wildly. "Come on in."

The low buzz seemed to vibrate through the floor as the door unlocked, Rita letting herself in and removing her jacket immediately, crossing the floor of the lab and throwing her bag over the back of a chair. Pulling up a seat, Rita placed the plastic bag upon the work surface, the bottle of wine inside resting beside one of the many microscopes as Will approached from behind.

"What you got here?" He asked, peeling the plastic bag down the outside of the bottle. "Wine?"

"Don't touch that." Rita threw her hand up.

"It's warm." Will realised, the lack of condensation giving the game away.

"That's right." Rita smiled, snatching the Marsh file from Will's hand and laying it beside the microscope. "Condensation would wash the prints away."

"You're kidding right?" He laughed. "You got her prints? On this?"

"Straight up." Rita replied, opening a drawer by her side and digging around, finally pulling her hand free, the finger print kit clenched tightly in her hand. "Doesn't suspect a fucking thing either."

Slowly opening the tin, the lid popping free and emitting a cloud of silver dust, Rita laid the open tin on the desk and grabbed the brush, turning to the bottle of merlot and spinning the head up and down the glass before her, Will taking a step back as dust clouded the area.

"You do know that'll be inadmissible right?" He asked, crossing his arms.

"Maybe." Rita muttered, her mind focusing on the bottle of wine as slowly but surely a pattern began to emerge, the bottle of wine displaying finger prints by the dozen as the dust settled.

"Jesus." Will leaned over, withdrawing a clear plastic strip from thin air as he gently placed it over a print, pressing firmly before lifting the strip from the surface of the glass and admiring the image before him.

"What you think?" Rita asked, jumping from her chair as Will slid the strip between the clips gracing the microscopes stage, placing his eye over the lens and taking in the detail.

"I'm not sure." Will studied. "Friction ridge impression is similar, that's for sure. If you look, you'll notice the width of the print, the sudden arch impression. We call that a tented arch."

"I see." Rita took a look through the lens. "So what does this mean?"

"Well we're looking at a thumb print, that's for sure, you can tell by the width." Will started. "Now the arch on this thumb print is incredibly similar to the arch on the strip from the Marsh case."

"So we have a match?" Rita asked, anxious as Will returned his eye to the lens and perused for a few seconds more, swapping for the strip of prints from the Marsh case.

"In my opinion?" Will turned to Rita. "Yes."

"I fucking knew it." Rita gasped, her face lighting up.

"But a word of warning." Will started. "It's not absolute proof. We'd need time for that, time we don't have, especially as this evidence wouldn't hold up in court."

"How do you mean?" Rita seemed astonished.

"Well you weren't entirely up front with this girl." Will answered. "Any defence in the country would argue that this evidence would be inadmissible, illegally obtained."

"So what can we do?" Rita asked, the sudden realisation that her hard work could be snuffed out so bluntly hitting home.

"Personally?" Will turned to her. "I'd suggest letting Homicide take it from here. Tell them what you know, what you're found out and let them get to work on it."

"What?" Rita spat, disgusted at the thought. "No! Homicide hasn't been reliable since Norris left. All they'd do is go stampeding in. Blow everything in an instant."

"Come on Rita, they're not that bad." Will tried to reason.

"No. If this isn't enough then we get more." Rita begged, her voice breaking as she spoke, Will sitting in silence as he tried to sympathise with his friend.

"How do we do that?" He asked.

"I don't know." Rita replied. "We dig deeper."

As a silence fell over the room, Rita allowed her mind to wander, all the while thinking to herself, knowing, there must be something. Whether it was something they'd missed, something they'd yet to uncover, she didn't know. But there was something, all at once her mind sparking into life as she turned and asked Will a question.

"Why didn't this flash up three years ago?" She asked.

"Excuse me?" Will seemed confused.

"Marsh was murdered on the eighteenth right? Valentine arrested on the twentieth? Why didn't they pick her prints up as being the same as the ones on the Marsh file?"

"This was 1990 right?" Will snatched the file from the desk and double checking as his eyes raced over the details. "September too."

"What's that to do with anything?" Rita asked, staggered.

"If I remember right, that was the time the new system was integrated." Will guessed as he placed the files back. "Old stuff transferred over, new stuff went straight into the new system. My guess would be that the two cases overlapped, the system missed it and nobody became any wiser."

"You're kidding." Rita closed her eyes and took a deep breath, unable to believe it.

"That'd be my verdict." Will smiled uneasily. "I said at the time this would happen. Inevitable that things like this would be missed, god only knows what else slipped through the net back then, the integration took over a week for the I.T team to handle."

Shaking her head, Rita exhaled deeply and blinked her eyes, the exhaustion of the investigation finally beginning to take its toll as she felt an invisible barrier once more blocking her way, the incredible good fortune of Tiffany Valentine again rearing its ugly head as the path before her became littered with blind chances and pure luck. As she sat, tired, deflated and unable to raise her energy for yet another round, a thought ignited in Rita's head. Nothing much, but worth looking into at the very least as she looked up and hissed in Will's direction, the gangly frame before her spinning at the sound of anxiety in her voice.

"I know what to do." She smiled, nodding as the thought rattled around her head.

"You do?" Will asked, raising an eyebrow, sensing his workload suddenly multiply tenfold.

"You said the system could have missed anything around that time right?" Rita asked, hurriedly, a panic filling her voice."

"Well..." Will started. "I guess it could have..."

"So we run a check on unsolved murder in the Chicago area." Rita's eyes flickered with enthusiasm as she sprang forward, palms thrust towards Will in a calming motion, instinct predicting his reaction.

"What?" He asked in astonishment. "Are you crazy?"

"Only for the time between Marsh's murder and Valentine's arrest." Rita reasoned with him. "I'm telling you, there has to be something."

"You want me to do a search for unsolved murders, in Chicago, between the eighteenth and twentieth of September?" Will shook his head in disbelief, leaning back and resting against the desk behind him. "That would take weeks!"

"Not all of Chicago." Rita bit her nail, eyes wandering as she thought. "Within a twenty five mile radius of Marsh's murder."

"Interesting." Will narrowed his eyes and allowed the idea to settle. "Although you do realise how busy we are down here right?"

"I know, I know." Rita nodded. "There's something else too."

"Fuck me Rita!" Will laughed.

"Seriously, it's something I can't get my head around." Rita spoke, a confused look appearing as she did.

"That 'Killer Doll' evidence right?" Will guessed correctly, Rita nodding as he answered her.

"What the hell was he doing with it?" She asked. "Why Marsh? How does it all tie in? It has to mean something."

"My thought entirely." Will's voice was quiet, a whisper as he too seemed deep in thought.

"You remember that case right?" Rita asked, remembering Tiffany, eyes fixed on the doll as she greeted her in the bus terminal for that very first time.

"You kidding?" Will asked bemused. "Who doesn't?"

"You remember the name of the guy?" Rita tilted her head, the name escaping her briefly.

"Which guy?" Will asked instantly.

"'The' guy." Rita snapped. "Supposedly behind it all."

"Charles Lee Ray?" Will came back even quicker, the name suddenly familiar. "Other known as the 'Lake Shore Strangler'?"

"That's it!" Rita beamed as the name suddenly rang numerous bells. "Look into that too!"

"You want his file?" Will asked.

"It can only help." Rita said grabbing her coat, throwing it over her shoulders and allowing her arms to slide down the length of the sleeves as she quickly adjusted her collar. "Just be careful. We don't want to go stirring interest in this."

"If anybody asks, I'll say you pulled a gun on me." Will laughed, watching Rita turn and flash a smile as she reached the door to the forensic laboratory, disappearing as she pressed the release switch and allowed the door to open. Standing alone in the lab, turning and taking in the mountain of paperwork sat in his inbox, Will allowed his eyes to fall to the files of Tiffany Valentine and Harry Marsh, the job ahead of him suddenly dawning as the responsibility loomed monstrously in the distance. As the name of Tiffany Valentine danced in the fluorescent light of Chicago Police Department's Forensics laboratory, Will took a deep breath and whispered to himself.

"Let's see what secrets you're hiding Miss Valentine."

Pulling into the dark parking lot of Appleby's Store, dust kicking up as the car abruptly slowed to manoeuvre down the side of the run down old building, the Chevrolet reached a crawl and flicked off the lights, the passengers hidden beneath the tinted windows of the waxed vehicle as the paintwork gleamed in the crystal clear moonlight. Slowly turning, the car swinging 180 degrees and coming to a standstill, the brake lights shone bright and illuminated the barn, the electric red casting all manner of shadows across the wooden structure as the barren land either side also became bathed in a glow of urgency. As the key in the ignition of the vehicle was twisted, the engine coughed and spluttered a slow and vibrant death, the racing yellow chassis vibrating under the strain as the interior light flickered into life and highlighted the two inhabitants of the cars cockpit.

"Here we are." Joe smiled, releasing his grip on the cars key as he allowed his arm to fall by his side, turning to Tiffany and allowing her beauty to soak in.

"So we are." Tiffany took a deep breath, her heart racing, the blood pulsing in her ears as she tried to relax, a million nerves screaming at her, berating her for betraying her heart, all the while another million attempting to reason with her brain, rationalise that she simply had to move on and examine the situation with logic.

"I had fun tonight." Joe whispered, his hand slowly grabbing Tiffany's thigh, her leg feeling firm under his touch as he began to massage, the nylon stocking feeling like heaven to his finger tips.

"Me too." Tiffany turned to him and smiled, her contrasting thoughts reverberating across her brain as she gently grabbed his hand, lifting it and placing it back on his own leg. "But you can have too much fun you know."

Joe's laugh was soft and playful as he held his hands in the air, palms facing Tiffany as he gestured surrender, his wide grin displaying a set of perfect white teeth.

"Hey," He started. "Can't blame a guy for trying huh?"

Digging through the remnants of Mrs Appleby's previous 'strays' had wielded a few valuable garments as Tiffany sought urgently for something, anything, to wear for tonight. The first time she had arranged to meet Joe in a more intimate environment and she could sense the icy atmosphere around the house since she decided to tell Mrs Appleby, the old woman repeatedly telling her it would go wrong, that he was a 'bad apple'. Nevertheless, Tiffany had called Mrs Appleby's bluff, taken Joe up on his offer of dinner and a movie, and now here they sat. The awkwardness of the situation had only set in as they arranged a time, decided which movie to see, Tiffany explaining the terms of her parole, that she simply must be back home before 9pm as Joe listened down the phone, no doubt wondering whether it was worth it. Now as, she pushed his hand away and listened to him joke about the fact, Tiffany was pleased she took him up on his offer, even to get out of the house for a few hours, the four walls of the house, store and barn driving Tiffany round the twist as she spent every waking hour catering to Mrs Appleby's every whim.

"I'm sorry we had to be back so early." Tiffany apologised, her voice floating through the air as her nostrils flared slightly. "But, you know..."

"Yeah, I know." Joe nodded, turning his attention to the rear view mirror, Mrs Appleby's house resting in the background as the silhouette of the old girl hung in the living room window, no doubt casting an eye over the two of them as they chatted, all manner of visions floating across the old bat's eyes. "Curfew right?"

Tiffany nodded, closing her eyes and sighing in embarrassment.

"We should do it again though?" She half stated, half asked, Joe turning back to her, his eyes leaving the mirror.

"I could come in if you want." He offered, gesturing with a flick of the head back towards the house, Tiffany instantly answering, cutting him off.

"No..." She replied. "I don't need to give her any more ammunition."

"I see."

"Well," Tiffany reached into the foot well of the Chevrolet, fishing out her bag. "Guess I'd better get inside. Thank you Joe."

"No problem." Joe said, leaning in, catching Tiffany unexpected as she turned from the crooked house behind them, straight into him as he placed his lips on hers, their eyes closing automatically as Tiffany felt the fireworks ignite in her stomach, the soft touch of skin upon skin, taking a second before pulling away and smiling, playfully wiping her lip.

"Good night Joe." She swung the car door open, her heels digging into the dirt as she left the vehicle, bending and flashing him a smile and a wink as she slammed the car door. Without saying a word, the engine fired into a life as the exhausts purred, Joe gently giving it a little gas as the car pulled away and back towards the street, passing down the side of Appleby's Store before turning left, the tail lights disappearing almost immediately as Tiffany turned and started climbing the steps towards the house.

Standing from behind the net curtain, Mrs Appleby watched on. The car sparking into life as Tiffany stood and watched, slowly pulling up to the street and out of sight as Tiffany headed up to the house. This wasn't the way it was supposed to be, Mrs Appleby's face stern and unmoving as she reached to her left and grabbed the switch of the lamp, pulling it sharply and plunging the lounge into darkness. This Joe thing had put a spanner in the works alright, but all she could do was hope it ran its course, fizzled out in time, all the while Mrs Appleby would sit and wait, picking her moment with ultimate precision, as she gently put her plan into action.

Tiffany had been brought here to do a job.

Whether she liked it or not.


	16. Chapter 3-5

Chapter 3.5

July 25th 1993 (Two weeks later)

"...And I'm telling you it was 1933!" Mrs Appleby's voice hollered across the store, the grating tone beginning to annoy Tiffany as she hurriedly stacked the shelves of canned goods. The quicker the better as far as she was concerned, the heat was one thing, but the incessant nagging of her 'Hitler-like' supervisor would have made a saint swear, as Tiffany argued her corner, the old lady spitting bile right back.

"You're wrong." Tiffany pulled a disgusted face and shook her head, pausing for a fleeting second before returning to her laborious duties. "Babe Ruth called that shot in 1932. I know he did. My boyfriend was a huge Cubs fan, I don't think he'd get something as embarrassing as that wrong."

"Were you alive back in the early thirties you stupid, little bitch?" Mrs Appleby sniped, the bite in her voice cutting slightly.

"Obviously not." Tiffany laughed as she carried on working, not even bothering to turn around.

"Exactly." Mrs Appleby leaned back in her chair, a smug look appearing on her features as she sat behind the cash register. "Well I was, and I'm telling you babe Ruth hit that shot in 1933. Game three, World Series, long home run to the centre."

"Whatever." Tiffany laughed. "Don't you have 'anything' better to do with your time than argue with me about a baseball game from sixty years ago? Don't you have any friends you can go annoy? Or is that a stupid question?"

"Friends are overrated." Appleby mumbled to herself, sneering as she lowered her eyes to the ground.

"Jesus, no wonder you're all bitter and twisted." Tiffany began, quickly emptying the boxes of canned food. Beans, peas, tomatoes and all manner of goods beginning to line the shelves of the store as her hands frantically worked.

"Just what exactly is that supposed to mean?" Appleby lifted her head and asked.

"All you do is sit there, every day, same seat, same shit, telling me what a shitty job I do." Tiffany snarled, still not turning and seeing the shock on Mrs Appleby's face. "Then at night, you sit behind that curtain spying on me. And don't deny it, because Joe saw you."

"So lover boy tells you something and you lap it up?" Appleby laughed, her voice croaking as her laughter turned to a dry cough, her frail arm reaching for the glass of water sitting upon the counter.

"I don't know why you have to be so hard on him." Tiffany asked. "If you just gave him a chance. Invite him in..."

"I'm inviting that lecherous fuck nowhere." Appleby snapped between gulps of water. "I saw the way he looked at you, out in the barn that day."

"Meaning?" Tiffany asked, startled.

"You know what I mean. He looked at you the same way he looked at all the girls I've had."

"And what way is that exactly?"

"Like a god damn lion stalking a fucking deer." Appleby's voice quietened. "You mark my words young lady, you'd do well to remember who's in charge around here at times. Don't forget I can dial 911 in a heartbeat. So if I say jump, you ask..."

"...how high." Tiffany finished the sentence, rolling her eyes as she did, glancing into the parking lot and seeing the familiar sight of Rita's sedan through the store front window.

"Exactly." Mrs Appleby smiled, nodding with a smug satisfaction.

"Well if you're going to report me to the authorities for going on a date then now's your chance." Tiffany said dryly, dropping to her knees and beginning to break the plethora of cardboard boxes down. Within a minute Rita swung the door to Appleby's Store open, entering and allowing a gentle summer breeze to follow on behind, cardigan held delicately over her forearm as she gave Tiffany a forced smile and looked in Mrs Appleby's direction.

"Ladies." Rita beamed, Mrs Appleby looking up and returning the smile, throwing in a wave for good measure. "How are we today?"

"Rita my dear girl." Mrs Appleby smiled, sweetness resonating from within as she turned the charm up to eleven. "How are you?"

"I'm good thanks Mrs Appleby." Rita answered cheerfully. "How are you doing?"

"Oh I keep going. But only just." The old girl gushed, placing her glass of water by the register as she stood and began to shuffle into the aisle.

"And you Tiffany?" Rita turned and looked down, her cardigan flaring out as she did, the small draft making Tiffany's hair flutter slightly, the long, golden ponytail hanging gloriously over her shoulder.

"Not bad." Tiffany sighed, nodding over her shoulder at the approaching frame of the old woman, her demeanour changing the second Rita entered the building.

"That's good then." Rita replied, turning back to Mrs Appleby and beginning to make her way towards her.

"We were just having quite the discussion about baseball you know." Mrs Appleby pulled her thin apron tighter around her waist, her wrinkled stockings sagging around her calves as she slowly shuffled along.

"Oh really?" Rita seemed surprised, turning from Appleby to Tiffany and then back again.

"A little bit of a debate to be honest." Appleby laughed.

"Little bit?" Tiffany turned, stunned as she knelt between the battered squares of cardboard.

"It was nothing really." Mrs Appleby said, ignoring Tiffany as she turned back to Rita. "About Babe Ruth's called shot in the World Series."

"Oh yeah." Rita cast her eyes upwards, her hand gently cradling her chin as her thumb and index finger began to massage her cheeks. "Cubs versus Yankees? World Series, game three. October 1st 1932 if I'm not mistaken."

"Ha!" Tiffany spun on her knees and goaded Appleby, pointing as she did so, a wide grin showing her full set of pearly white teeth.

"Really?" Appleby asked, Rita taken aback by Tiffany's reaction as she calmly returned her attention to the old woman.

"Never been surer of anything in my life." Rita answered. "My dad was a massive Cubs fan. Ever since the trip over from Mexico. At first it was a way to fit in, but pretty soon it became a full blown obsession. Drove my mother nuts."

"Well I'll be..." Appleby's eyes sunk further into her skull, Tiffany beaming from the floor as various foods surrounded the trio of women. "I could've sworn..."

"Don't worry about it." Tiffany waved her hand, shrugging away the thickly veiled apology. "Things are expected to get a little cloudy at your age."

"Ouch." Rita chuckled, noticing the look of surprise on Mrs Appleby's face.

"I'll have you know," Mrs Appleby started. "That age is nothing but a number."

"Speaking of which, how old are you exactly?" Tiffany asked, concentrating as she scooped up an arm full of cardboard and rose to a standing position.

"That's none of your business." Mrs Appleby snapped, lifting her nose in the air and screwing her lips together. "Now how about you do something useful like making a drink for Rita and me?"

"What a surprise." Tiffany sighed, air escaping her lungs, arms full as she made her way between the two ladies. "Two teas?"

"Please." Rita smiled, eyes following Tiffany as she made her way to the rear of the store, the small kitchen waiting in the background. Although time had made it easier, Rita still had to smile through gritted teeth, the fury held back as she focused and patiently awaited the light at the end of the tunnel. Full trust in her friend, Will, as he worked behind the scenes to bring more to the table, hopefully something solid as Rita ventured forward, the burning feeling deep within only quelled by an ending that resulted in Tiffany Valentine back behind bars.

For Harry Marsh...

And whoever else.

Over the course of half an hour Rita and Mrs Appleby exchanged various details and paperwork regarding Tiffany. Time sheets, stories, even the odd doubt as to whether or not her life could ever be the same again, Mrs Appleby proclaiming her the sweetest girl ever to grace her house, Rita urging her not to be so trusting, not to let her guard drop even for a second. It was as they were talking, the peacefulness of the empty store not seeming to bother Mrs Appleby, that Tiffany emerged from the back door, arms laden with boxes as she carried a delivery from the waiting truck outside, the shelves in one section of the small, rustic business almost bare, the recent bad weather restricting traffic, none more than the high sided vehicles baring deliveries.

"She 'seems' happy enough." Rita turned in Tiffany's direction and bit her lip.

"She should be." Appleby looked up from her cup of steaming hot earl grey, her usual sugar coated tone missing for a split second, surging into life as she carried on. "She has a 'gentleman' friend."

"Really?" Rita spun, surprise rife in her words.

"Why yes." Mrs Appleby laughed. "Is that alright?"

"I guess so." Rita shrugged her shoulders. "Nothing in the rules about that."

If anything this was welcome news. The fact Tiffany had some form of ongoing romance made it all the more likely she had no plans to jump ship in the middle of Rita's mini investigation and disappear into the night. As the two women finished their drinks, and as Tiffany merrily hummed to herself as she worked her shift, a low rumbling noise suddenly invaded the interior of Appleby's store, followed a split second later by a high pitched beeping, the two short pulses singing out, broken only by a small pause, before once more chiming out again. Puzzled, the three women turned and observed their surroundings, each of them at a loss as the vibrating tune played out time and again, Mrs Appleby the first to speak as she focused on the store counter.

"Is that coming from your bag my dear?" She asked, Rita stunned as her hand shot out and grabbed the soft leather of the bag sat on the store counter. As she grabbed it, the answer became all too clear, embarrassment rippling through her as she quickly unzipped the bag and reached inside, withdrawing her arm to reveal a pager. As the low pitched rumble of the vibrating pager shook her arm from hand to elbow, the small device rang once more, Rita suddenly depressing a small button and reading the number stamped across the LCD display. As Tiffany observed from the other side of the store, she noticed the look in Rita's eyes, lighting up like the fourth of July as a smile appeared across her lips, quickly disappearing as Rita immediately sought to gather herself.

"Stupid thing." She laughed, placing it back in the darkness of her bag. "Keep forgetting I have one. I never use it."

"What on earth is it?" Mrs Appleby asked innocently.

"Just a pager." Rita answered honestly. "It's for emergencies, if I'm needed etc..."

"My goodness, is there an emergency?" Mrs Appleby asked in horror, placing her cup upon the surface of the store counter.

"No, no, we're good Mrs Appleby." Rita laughed, noticing Tiffany out of the corner of her eye. She had stood, eyes fixed on Rita, for the past minute now. Not moving, not saying a word, Rita wasn't even sure if she had drawn a breath since the pager vibrated into life, but she was taking no chances now as she focussed on Mrs Appleby.

"So long as everything's alright." Appleby smiled. "You gave us all a fright then."

"Would I be okay to just use your phone?" Rita asked, pointing beyond Mrs Appleby and towards the small office out back, the scene of so many meetings with the old woman this last few years.

"Why of course." Mrs Appleby replied, waving her through. "You take all the time you need my dear."

Thanking Mrs Appleby and entering the office, Rita turned and closed the door, looking up briefly to find Tiffany's eyes still locked on her, unable to return her gaze as Rita dropped her head again, too afraid of giving anything away as the door clicked shut. Marching across the rough, wooden floor, Rita perched herself along the edge of Mrs Appleby's desk and grabbed the phone, twisting it to face her as she lifted the receiver from the cradle and dialled automatically, listening for the line to spark into life, the crackling of static as she waited in abject silence. Two rings and the line opened up, the voice low as it spoke, nothing much, but a whisper as it called her name.

"Rita?"

"Yes." She answered. "What do we have?"

"You need to get over here." Will's voice was practically inaudible as it spoke, quiet and straining over the static along the line, multiple voices heard in the background.

"You have something?" She asked once more, her own voice low.

"We have..."

The voice started, taking a pause before continuing.

"...Everything..."

"You're kidding." Rita beamed, the volume of her voice raising as she spoke.

"Get over here as soon as you can." Will's voice became clearer. "I'm working late, but be quick. I don't want this noticed."

"I'll be there as quick as I can." Rita gushed, the phone halfway back to the cradle, quickly pulled back as she spoke once more. "Thanks Will."

Hanging up the phone, Rita felt a trepidation as she breathed deeply and approached the door, yanking it open and finding Appleby's store deserted. No Tiffany. No Mrs Appleby. No customers. Nobody. Closing the office door behind her, Rita approached the counter and collected her bag, calling out into the barren interior.

"Mrs Appleby?" She called.

No answer.

"Tiffany?" She called again, louder.

Nothing.

Lifting her arm and pulling back the sleeve of her cardigan, Rita looked at the time on her watch. Mid afternoon and with a two hour drive back into the city, if she was lucky, Rita realised the importance of time and headed to the front entrance of the store, pulling open the door and letting the bell above ring out, hopefully drawing either Mrs Appleby or Tiffany from their hiding places, giving her a chance to say her goodbyes before leaving. Nobody appeared, Rita wasting no more time as she crossed the threshold and headed to her car, the sunlight bouncing from every inch of steel, blinding as she quickly unlocked the door of the sedan and climbed inside. From the phone call moments ago, she had every reason to rush, although she had no idea how much, one thing playing on her mind slightly.

What exactly did Will mean?

'Everything'?

Emerging from the restroom, standing in the front window of Appleby's store, Tiffany watched as the sedan pulled into the street and turned toward the interstate. Birds chirped in the trees as the warm afternoon sun beat down across Mount Carroll, shadows dancing across the parking lot as Tiffany stood in the silence and watched the car disappear into the distance. Turning and making her

way back through the aisles and towards the counter, Tiffany passed the cash register and headed into the office, Mrs Appleby already back up at the house as she returned to start preparing the evening meal. Gently closing the office door behind her, Tiffany sat at the desk and pulled the phone towards her, grabbing the receiver and lifting it to her ear. Without thinking, her finger shot to the keypad and instinctively hit the redial button, a ringing suddenly echoing down the line as Tiffany waited in silence, the ringing seeming to ring on and on before suddenly dying as a the line 'clicked' into life, a voice speaking calmly down the other end of the connection.

"Forensics..." The voice answered.

Tiffany felt a shiver cross her spine as she rammed the phone back into the cradle, the crash of plastic on plastic making her blink as the desk felt the full force of the impact. Sitting back, she felt confusion as to the nature of Rita's call. Why were the forensics team of Chicago Police Department paging her? Reaching into her pocket, Tiffany pulled a thin strip of plastic free and admired it in the dim light of Mrs Appleby's office. Twisting and turning it in her hand, the incredibly fine imprints gracing the strip of plastic danced as the light filtered through the oil of her fingerprints, Tiffany casting her mind back to that first meeting with Rita. Under the pretence of needing a brief sleep in the back of the car, Tiffany had indeed realised that she'd perhaps said a little more than she needed to regarding Harry Marsh, taking advantage of the situation and carefully pulling her prints from her very own file, tucked away in the rear of the sedan. Not that she thought there would be any need, but better safe than sorry. Now as she reached into her other pocket, Tiffany withdrew her hand, the lighter glistening as she struck the flint and allowed a spark to ignite and grow into a long, orange flame. Gently holding the tip of the flame beneath the clear plastic, the material immediately beginning to melt as it shrunk into practically nothing, a tower of black smoke now spiralling into the air as the fumes began to make Tiffany feel instantly sick. She didn't know why she felt an air of anxiety all of a sudden. She'd been careful enough and had so far behaved herself remarkably well. The more she thought, the more she felt confidence that whatever reasons Rita had for receiving pager messages from the forensics department couldn't possibly be to do with her.

Could it?

As the sun set across the horizon, the orange glow blinding as the skyline appeared majestically across the foreground, Rita sat and waited. Upon reaching the forensic department and repeatedly pressing the buzzer Will's voice had crackled over the intercom and asked her to wait, the lab not quite empty as various other technicians worked through their cases. Not one to quit so easily, Rita had headed to the coffee machine at the end of the hall and taken a seat, the piping hot cardboard

mug now burning the flesh of her hand as she sat and watched the clock tick on, taking in the ensuing sunset through the windows of the third floor. After half an hour, the door to the lab hissed open, an army of workers emerging as they laughed and joked, heading in unison to the elevators based at the midway point, never noticing Rita as she took another swig of the dark, strong coffee and cast her eyes in the opposite direction. Soon enough the hallway cleared and Rita heard a muffled cough, turning to find Will standing in the doorway to the lab, hurriedly waving her in as he allowed his eyes to wander the corridor in fear. Grabbing her bag and reaching the door, Will moved to one side and ushered her in, following on as they entered the sterile environment beyond. Desks and work stations were littered with unfinished jobs, paperwork strewn across almost every conceivable work surface as the team feverishly laboured into the night. One desk remained tidy, the cold steel metal beneath welcoming as Rita and Will approached, the files laid out, side by side, slightly overlapping as they came to a standstill.

"So..." Rita sighed, removing her coat. "We have everything?"

"Take a look." Will smiled, pulling out a chair and motioning for Rita to sit as he pulled a medley of files towards her. "I did as you asked and cross referenced the unsolved murders from the two day period between Marsh's murder and Valentine's arrest."

"And...?" Rita asked.

"Nothing unusual at first." Will answered. "Obviously there were a lot. But Chicago's a pretty big place right?"

"I guess so." Rita bit her lip and exhaled, defeat beginning to appear in her expression.

"But then I decided to search again." Will explained. "Only this time I searched within a ten kilometre radius from the Marsh scene."

"You can do that?" Rita seemed pleasantly surprised as Will flashed her a winning smile.

"You'd be amazed what we can do these days." He laughed.

"Okay, so I take it this brought something up?" Rita asked once more.

"You could say that." Will surged on. "There were still a fair amount showing on the system, and more or less all are currently in the process of going to trial or awaiting sentencing."

"I hope you're joking." Rita sighed, beginning to stand.

"Calm down." Will held his palms up, gesturing for Rita to sit as he opened a couple of the files now sat before her. "We did get something, although one is literally impossible to pin on your suspect, as you'll soon see."

"Okay." Rita turned her attention to the files and allowed her eyes to roam over the details lurking within. "So what exactly do we have here?"

"This is a double homicide." Will began. "Although technically, if you look at the coroner's report, it's not. This is two single homicides, at the same location, separated by a time period of roughly twelve hours."

"Gabriella Cortez and John Duncan?" Rita read the names allowed.

"That's right. Arcadia Heights, down Washington Park way. Miss Cortez became the victim of severe asphyxiation, while Mr Duncan received a rather solid blow to the side of the head. By the looks of it, he was dead before he hit the ground."

"Okay." Rita looked puzzled. "But this looks just like two murders. One random event, and Washington Park isn't exactly the most peaceful place at the best of times. What links these to Valentine?"

"Do you seriously have such little trust in me?" Will asked sarcastically, his fingers beginning to point to various details of the case. "Gabriella Cortez was known to Chicago Police Department pretty well, despite not being in the area long. Cuban descent, previous pickups for soliciting sexual acts, public disorder, carrying a class A drug, the usual stuff. The guy from the crime scene, however, was also known to the Chicago Police Department, but for much longer. 'Johnny' Duncan had his stubby little

fingers into more or less everything. Pimping, protection rackets, drug dealing, gang related violence, you name it, we picked him up for it at some point or another."

"She was a hooker, he was her pimp." Rita figured as she listened. "But I still don't see a connection to Valentine."

"Neither did I." Will's hand reached for another file, pulling it towards Rita and opening it up. "Then I accidentally stumbled across this little gem."

"Max Mattson?" Rita said, as though the name was familiar. "Why does that name ring a bell?."

"It did with me too." Will replied. "Which is why I looked a little deeper. Death from sudden and violent suffocation. Executive at..." Will paused for effect before carrying on. "...none other than Play Pals Toys. At the centre of a pretty big media circus at the time, all due to the 'Killer Doll' case. "

"What?" Rita gasped. "Tell me that's not a coincidence."

"I don't think so." Will ran his finger along a line from Mattson's file. "Apparently Mr Mattson took delivery of the famed 'Killer Doll' evidence on the same day Harry Marsh met his end at the hands of your young lady friend."

"Enough of the friend bit." Rita rolled her eyes and began to shake her head. "I just don't see how this all fits together. How do Cortez and Duncan fit in with Mattson?"

"Well I'm no detective, but I'd be accustomed to believing the bit in the file here where Mr Mattson has a previous citation for kerb crawling. My guess would be that he knew Miss Cortez that way. But more on that later."

"I see." Rita replied, deep in thought. "You said one of these murders was impossible to pin on Valentine. How do you figure that out?"

"Good old fashioned physics I'm afraid." Will answered pointing to the times of death on the Cortez and Mattson files. "Valentine couldn't be in two places at once, and the Cortez and Mattson murders were estimated by the coroners to have happened at almost the exact same time, but with a decent amount of ground between them."

"So you're saying she had an accomplice?" Rita asked, confusion beginning to cloud her head.

"I don't know what to think regarding that." Will answered. "We start thinking there may be an accomplice, then it could get even cloudier than it already is."

"Okay. So Mattson knew Cortez, and Cortez knew Duncan." Rita bowed her head in desperation. "But I still fail to see Valentine in the mix."

"And so you should." Will replied. "That's exactly what she wanted. Now take a look at this."

Speaking quietly, Will reached for the remaining file and pulled it across the desk, opening it up as he allowed Rita to take a look.

"This is Charles Lee Ray's file!" Rita seemed stunned.

"Indeed it is." Will grinned. "The same Charles Lee Ray that one Karen Barclay claimed had possessed her son's Good Guy doll, leading to the aforementioned media circus and negative publicity for Play Pals. Everything is there, right from his first arrest and up to the night Mike Norris took him out."

"Nothing after that?" Rita asked, sensing she already knew the answer.

"Come on Rita." Will laughed. "We deal in facts and evidence down here. Not freak shows and horror stories."

"Sorry I asked." Rita stifled her laughter as she read on, flicking through the numerous pages of Charles Lee ray's file, the arrest sheet making incredible reading. From the early years of shoplifting,

the odd car theft, right up to the famed murders and voodoo rituals, ending on a kidnapping and attempted murder of one Sarah Pirce just one night before his death. "So what are we looking for here?"

"Take a look at the known associates." Will sat back and waited for Rita to reach that particular page, her eyes narrowing as she read. 

**Known Associates:**

**Caputo, Edward J.**

**-**

**Bishop, John T.**

**-**

**Valentine, Tiffany**

"What the fuck?" Rita spat, her tone riddled in shock. "She already had a file?"

"Strangely enough no." Will responded immediately. "I checked, and the only thing she was ever picked up for was 'suspicion of soliciting'. She was released without charge each time."

"So let me get this straight..." Rita took a deep breath and collected herself.

"Go for it." Will sat and waited, a smile spreading across his lips.

"Valentine was a known associate of Charles Lee Ray."

"Correct." Will nodded, arms folded across his chest.

"'The' Charles Lee Ray from the 'Killer Doll' case."

"The very same." Will smiled wider. "My guess would be that she was probably the girlfriend, maybe even a jilted one at that. What with the woman in the basement and all."

"So then what the hell was she doing with Marsh?" Rita pondered. "This is where it begins! With Marsh. What's her motive?"

"Maybe..." Will leaned in. "Just maybe she was desperate enough to believe all the crazy shit and wanted answers. Which brings Marsh well and truly into the picture. She offers him money, he grabs the doll after the case is thrown out. Maybe she didn't get what she wanted and maybe, in some half assed attempt to save his own life, Marsh sent her on some wild goose chase towards the other half of the evidence from the 'Killer Doll' case. That evidence now with Max Mattson. Only she can't get to Mattson just like that, so Marsh points her in the direction of Gabriella Cortez, known to be on 'friendly' terms with Mr Mattson."

"That would explain it I guess." Rita studied hard, her head snapping towards Will suddenly. "You seem pretty sure about this to say it's all 'what ifs' and 'maybes'."

"Well you know me." Will replied with a wry smile.

"You smart fuck, you have evidence don't you?" Rita guessed, astonished.

"You think I'm going to make assumptions like this based on nothing but 'maybes'?" Will laughed, rocking backwards as he did so.

"Show me." Rita stood in a heartbeat.

Seeing her smile disappear and an agonising look of desperation cross her face, Will turned and energetically grabbed a box from the desk by his side, opening the lid and placing it upon the surface of the desk in front of Rita. As Will pulled various objects, documents and pictures from the box, Rita listened as he explained. Slowly but surely, a picture began to develop. Not as much a picture, more of a grainy home video as Will talked her through it, explaining the details behind everything as Rita began to add it all up, exhilarated as she found exhibit A leading from the Evan Carter case and all the way through to exhibit F and the random murder of Max Mattson, a trail of destruction burning

brightly across Chicago, imprinting its self across the mind as Will continued, detail upon detail offering a much clearer insight. As he finished, Rita reached inside the box and withdrew a small bag.

"I want to take this." Rita held the evidence gingerly in her hand, Will's reaction one of uncertainty.

"I don't know about that." His face one of concern. "Is that wise?"

"Call it shock tactics." Rita said smugly. "She may just even crack and confess."

Allowing her eyes to wander across the assembled evidence, Rita felt a surge of confidence coarse through her veins. Along with each and every file now sitting before her, the various evidence from the Marsh, Carter, Cortez, Duncan and Mattson cases now, in their own unique ways, offered a pretty intense explanation to the events between the 18th and 20th of September 1990.

"Will, my friend."

Rita paused, the evidence before her now telling a story from A to Z.

"That's one hell of a job."


	17. Chapter 3-6(a)

Chapter 3.6 (Part One)

July 26th 1993 (One Day Later)

Entering Appleby's store and hearing the all familiar jingle of the bell as the door swung open, Rita took a deep breath and stepped inside. Rows of freshly stocked shelves and refrigerators awaited her as she calmly strolled between the aisles, not a soul in sight as she swiftly reached the counter and took another look around. The office door remained closed and the store felt serene as a stillness fell across the interior, not a sound from the radio, which was unusual, although calling at such an early time was a new experience for both Rita and Mrs Appleby as she examined the antique clock hung gracefully on the wall behind the counter. She'd hardly slept, in fact she hadn't slept, all night. Her mind attempting to foresee the events of the next day, predict how things would pan out as she finally confronted Tiffany and laid Will's theory out before her. Will had wanted to alert the Homicide department immediately, explain the case, the evidence, but Rita was having none of it. That department had gone to hell in a hand basket the moment Mike Norris left. True Jack Santos remained, but not entirely, simply a shell of the man he once was as he turned to the bottle in a big way, the events of the famed 'Killer Doll' case eventually taking its toll as workmates and superiors ridiculed him at every conceivable turn. In a way Rita felt a surge of sympathy for him. She'd seen the work he'd carried out before those dark days, and he was nothing short of exemplary in his role. True he had a knack for rubbing people up the wrong way, maybe he was a little over confident, but still a fantastic detective. Now...? Rita couldn't trust even him to look into this. Instead she had promised Will that she would carry a side arm and take only the one piece of evidence, reasoning that the shock factor may force Tiffany into some form of confession, come peacefully as Rita then phoned the local Sheriff's office and explained the situation. She had more though, pictures of each and every exhibit which could be produced at will and show exactly how Tiffany's little plan had been worked out, unravelled, dissected and then pieced back together strand by strand. In fact now she came to think of it, Rita was pretty sure this whole incident would cause Tiffany to crack. There would be no going back and no amount of anger or violence would erase the box full of evidence sat in the forensics department at Chicago Police Department.

"I thought I heard a voice." Mrs Appleby's voice snaked through the air, causing Rita to jerk in shock, her thoughts running away with her as she stood idly by the cash register.

"Holy shit." Rita's hand shot to her chest, her heart beginning to pulsate beneath her blouse, her shoulder length curls swinging in the breeze as she swung her head instinctively.

"Now, now." Mrs Appleby's eyes widened in surprise. "Did I startle you my dear?"

"I'll say." Rita gasped, her chest banging as she attempted to catch her breath and compose herself.

"I'm sorry." She smiled and clasped her hands together across the waist of her filthy apron, the little wrinkled stockings protruding from beneath lending an even more comical look to Mrs Appleby's tiny frame.

"It's okay." Rita fanned herself with an outstretched hand. "Is Tiffany about?"

"She should be down soon." The old girl sighed. "Not one for early mornings. Last I knew she was getting out of bed."

"Okay. Would I be okay to head up and see her? It's kind of important."

"Sure." Mrs Appleby answered and gestured to the rear door of the small establishment. "Be my guest. Maybe you could be the kick up the ass that girl needs to get out of bed and start work."

"Maybe." Rita laughed as she headed to the door, throwing it open and stepping into the blistering sunlight of the early July morning. "Then again, maybe not."

As she passed down the side of the rustic barn, Rita looked up to the house. The drapes to one of the upstairs windows suddenly parting as a figure stood and took a second, arms flung out as it stretched long and hard. Turning from the window Tiffany disappeared from sight as Rita began the long and laborious climb to the summit of the huge, stone steps before her, legs aching as she reached the top and wiped the sweat from her brow. She had no idea how a woman of Mrs Appleby's age and condition managed this feat, multiple times a day at that, but it had become something she respected about the little old woman over time. Her resilience to plough on, no matter what. Reaching the huge wooden door to the house, Rita silently twisted the handle and let herself in, the huge hall before her never ceasing to impress as she spied the huge staircase, the door to the old fashioned, yet expensively decorated parlour to her right and the rest of the house hiding in the background, the shadows cast through the front windows yet to illuminate what lurked beyond. Allowing her hand to gently caress the smooth, lacquered banister of the staircase, Rita began to climb once more, gently as she took each step, getting a feel for the wood beneath her feet as the old structure creaked and groaned with every step, the ornate spindles running down the left hand side of the staircase impressive to say the least. Before long she had reached the top, Tiffany's voice carrying down the upper hall as she sang to herself, steam escaping the room down the end of the long hallway as the sound of gushing water suddenly ceased, causing Rita to stop dead in her tracks. Before she knew it, Tiffany emerged from the bathroom, hair dripping wet, a towel wrapped securely around her chest as she skipped quickly across the thick carpet and into the room exactly opposite, Rita now taking a deep breath as she stood perfectly still and counted her blessings, although what she had to lose by being spotted at this point was a mystery. The element of surprise, but that was all, no turning back now as she gripped her handbag to her side with a clenched palm and continued on towards Tiffany's room. Before she realised, it, words bouncing around her head, she had reached the door and rounded the corner, Tiffany with her back to Rita, half dressed as she fished through the drawers of an old wooden dresser and pulled garment after garment free. Allowing her time to slip on a vest and a pair of heavily torn jeans, Rita coughed, Tiffany spinning on the spot as she jumped in her skin and threw her hand to her mouth.

"Fucks sake Rita." She gasped. "I hate it when people do that!"

"I can imagine." Rita composed herself, going over her lines subconsciously.

"What's up?" Tiffany asked, catching her breath and scraping her long blonde hair back into a ponytail.

"I know." Rita answered, Tiffany not even flinching at her response, carefully wrapping a scrunchy around her flowing locks and staring into the mirror of the ornate dresser.

"Know what?" Tiffany asked casually, eyes fixed on the mirror as she applied a layer of lipstick to her soft, plump, lips.

"Everything?" Rita replied, causing Tiffany to turn from the mirror and give her a confused look.

"I don't get what you mean." Tiffany shook her head, a small smile forming as she slammed the drawers of the dresser closed.

"Yes you do." Rita sighed. "Harry Marsh."

Tiffany froze, all movement involuntarily stopping as she took a second to think, eyes glassed over as she stepped dizzily towards Rita and spoke softly.

"I don't..."

"We know you killed him." Rita interrupted. "We know it was you. We also know about Gabriella Cortez and Johnny Duncan. We know everything Tiffany."

"Bullshit. I don't know what you're talking about!" Tiffany spat. "Why are you saying this?"

"Because it's the truth." Rita cried at her. "At first I had my suspicions about Marsh, but then as I dug deeper, the others..."

"WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME?" Tiffany yelled, her voice echoing through the upstairs of the huge house, anger rippling through every syllable.

"Doing what?" Rita asked incredulously. "Are you actually denying it?"

"Damn right I'm denying it." Tiffany shot back. "You've had it in for me from day fucking one!"

"Please." Rita calmly replied. "It's no use Tiffany. We know everything. It's better you just admit it. In the long run, I don't know, maybe it'll look better on you that you came quietly."

"Came quietly?" Tiffany laughed. "Fuck no!"

"I'm not asking again." Rita angrily spat back.

"Where's your fucking proof?" Tiffany asked, arms clamped across her chest. "Where the fuck is it?"

"If you'd give me a minute..." Rita began, her turn to be interrupted.

"Give you a minute?" Tiffany asked, tears beginning to form in her eyes. "To what? Plant some evidence? Go fuck yourself!"

"We know about you and Charles Lee Ray!" Rita shot back, Tiffany falling silent in a heartbeat as she began to tremble. Without saying a word, she dropped to her bed, head cradled in her hands as she began to rock back and forth.

"How?" She asked, beginning to sob.

"The evidence in Marsh's car. That case, the doll, the urban legend. Then your name sitting right in the middle of Ray's file." Rita explained.

"Jesus." Tiffany took a deep breath and exhaled calmly, lifting her head from her hands and offering a forlorn look. "Was it so easy?"

"Not at first. But as it went on it all became clear." Rita responded.

"I highly doubt that." Tiffany laughed. "Nothing was ever clear where Chucky was concerned."

"Well how's this?" Rita started. "I'm willing to guess that when Ray died you had a lot of questions. Questions you were so desparate to get answers to, so much you started to believe the stories. Definitely questions about Sarah Pirce. So you bribed Marsh, I don't know how much, but it must have been a fair amount." Rita continued as Tiffany nodded, slowly wiping the tears from her eyes, hands shaking all the while.

"Fifty thousand." She answered between sobs. "He needed it for his wife."

"Jesus." Rita's brow furrowed, Marsh's reason suddenly making sense. "How did you ever expect to afford that?"

"I didn't." Tiffany shrugged her shoulders, her chin now resting in her hands as she sat at the edge of her bed, her head beginning to clear.

"So what did you expect?" Rita asked.

"I expected what happened." Tiffany answered. "He brought me the doll, I gave him a bag full of fake money covered with the odd twenty dollar bill. Once I was out of the car I came back and caught him looking in the bag... I grabbed his hair... Pulled his head up and..."

"Okay, let's leave it there." Rita stopped her, a disgusted look now appearing. "You deserve to burn for what you've done."

"This would never have happened if he'd brought me the whole doll!" Tiffany's face suddenly contorted in rage, veins bulging from her temples as she spat through clenched teeth.

"So you didn't get what you wanted." Rita reasoned. "So he what? Pointed you towards Max Mattson?"

"I'm saying nothing else." Tiffany muttered. "Unless you have proof then would you please leave me the fuck alone?"

"So you can skip town?" Rita laughed. "Pull the same shit on Mrs Appleby?"

"That woman isn't as quiet and innocent as you think you know." Tiffany said.

"I have all the proof I need Tiffany." Rita answered, ignoring her last statement and opening her back, fishing inside and pulling the clear plastic bag from within along with a selection of photographs. "I'm pretty sure this would be called 'Exhibit A' in a court of law."

Tiffany stared at the bag, the object within unfamiliar at first as she allowed her eyes to investigate it. All at once, the memory of that night came flashing back. Evan Carter, Harry Marsh, both victims of the same evening and the same tool of destruction, Tiffany standing upright as she recognised the knife come nail file resting in the evidence bag. Blood remained across the blade, as well as the inside of the bag, as Tiffany took a step toward Rita.

"Wait right there." Rita gestured with the hand full of photographs.

"I haven't seen that in a long time." Tiffany smiled, as though greeting an old friend.

"This is from the Evan Carter case. The case you were sentenced from. It's already on record that this is your knife." Rita explained more.

"Your point being?" Tiffany asked with a wry smile.

"My point is that this was seized at the time of your arrest and used to convict you of the attempted murder of Evan Carter."

"I still fail to see your point... Miss Hernandez" Tiffany replied.

"I'm getting to that..." Rita smiled back. "But how do we explain the blood of Officer Harry Marsh being all over it?"

"What can I say?" Tiffany turned and headed to the window, the sunlight beaming in as the birds sang in the trees outside. "You got me."

"Oh I know I've got you, you sick little bitch!" Rita snarled.

"I'm still waiting on a link to Gabriella, what did you say her surname was?" Tiffany asked casually.

"Cortez." Rita answered. "I take it you didn't take time to actually get to know your victims then?"

"Names mean nothing at a time of crisis." Tiffany's voice carried over her shoulder as she continued to look out the window. "However, I fail to see what links me to her and that dickless pimp of hers."

"Well let's see." Rita started thumbing through the photographs in her hands. "Here we go."

Tiffany turned from the window, just in time to see Rita throw the photograph on her bed. Stepping forward she bent over and snatched it from the fresh linen and examined it.

"This is?" She asked in confusion.

"Those are your fingerprints." Rita answered with a grin. "From the scene of Harry Marsh's murder. We have the murder weapon, and we also have your prints right there alongside him at the time he died."

"I see." Tiffany whispered, the evidence suddenly beginning to stack up. "But how does this link me to Gabriella and Johnny?"

"I'm getting to that." Rita answered, throwing another photograph onto the bed, Tiffany again picking it up.

"And this?" Tiffany asked again.

"Marsh's notepad." Rita replied. "Recovered from his body shortly after his death. You notice the last page was torn out, although not what you'd consider a clean tear. Not by any stretch. Part of the missing page is still attached. Also if you saw this in the flesh, you'd see the name 'Gabriella' slightly imprinted in the blank page beneath. He must have pressed on pretty damned hard."

"Hmmm." Tiffany examined the photograph. "I'd still call this circumstantial though."

"I thought you may." Rita smiled, holding yet another photograph in hand, turning it to face Tiffany. "But when you see what was found at the scene of the Cortez and Duncan murders you'd be amazed."

Staring at the two pictures now gracing Rita's outstretched hand, Tiffany focused. In one picture she could clearly see the handwriting of Officer Marsh, the page quickly torn from his Chicago P.D notepad as he frantically scribbled the name 'Gabriella', just moments before Tiffany delivered her fatal blow. In the other, a picture of a bloodied roll of twenty dollar bills, Tiffany completely at a loss as she examined the picture.

"It's a name and a handful of bills." Tiffany narrowed her eyes, curious as to where Rita was going with this.

"That's what you see." She answered. "What a jury would see is this. The name 'Gabriella' scribbled on the piece of paper missing from the notepad of one Officer Marsh. Check if you like, but the page is missing a corner, the corner still sitting in Marsh's notepad. The jury will also see a roll of twenty dollar bills. Not just any roll of twenty dollar bills though."

"Go on..." Tiffany encouraged, not liking where this conversation was heading, Rita's tone now smug and condescending.

"They will see a roll of twenty dollar bills stained with blood. Blood belonging to none other than Chicago P.D Officer Harry Marsh." Rita took a deep breath as Tiffany allowed things to sink in. The page Marsh tore from his notepad. The money waiting in the bag as Marsh inspected it. His heart sinking for the last moment of his life as he realised he'd been conned, Tiffany's fatal blow occurring within seconds of his discovery, the blood flowing from the multiple puncture wounds to his neck as the bag of cash sat wide open on his lap.

"I think I'm going to be sick." Tiffany breathed deeply, her eyes clamped closed as she lifted a solitary hand to her stomach and collapsed to the bed once again.

"We have you. Do you understand now?" Rita laughed. "Your prints in Marsh's car. Your connection to the 'Killer Doll' case. Then Marsh's note paper and blood turning up at the scene of a double homicide in Washington Park. Everything we need to put you away for life is right there! You'd be convicted within hours Tiffany!"

"Stop..." Tiffany held a hand up as she continued to take deep breaths. "I'm sorry. Alright?"

"Sorry?" Rita was stunned. "He had a wife god dammit. A wife who died never knowing what happened to her husband, or why!"

"I know." Tiffany looked up, her face red, her cheeks puffed as tears rolled across her face. "And I'm sorry!"

"There's only one thing we can't figure out!" Rita's voice became quiet as she thought for a second, Tiffany's gaze fixed on her. "What was the deal with Max Mattson?"

"How do you mean?" Tiffany asked, wiping a tear from her cheek.

"Coroner's report says he and Gabriella Cortez were killed around the same time. But there was a distance of over ten kilometres between them. Now we know these murders are connected, Mattson's car phone showed a call to Gabriella Cortez shortly before his murder." Rita snapped her head in Tiffany's direction. "So who took care of Mattson?"

"Chucky..." Tiffany gasped, her eyes dilating as she spoke his name, a stark realisation falling upon her as she began to sob once more. " He must have been in the car..."

"Don't fucking mess with me Tiffany!" Rita growled, stopping her mid-sentence. "Who helped you?"

"I'm telling you the truth you fucking idiot!" Tiffany yelled, her face turning red under the pressure.

"The hell you are." Rita spat, throwing the photographs in Tiffany's direction, turning to leave the bedroom. "Let's see what the Sheriff's Office have to say about this."

Before she knew what she was doing, Tiffany was up and giving chase as Rita hurried along the hall, the floral wallpaper and countless works of art a blur as she moved quickly to the top of the grand staircase. Turning and seeing Tiffany emerge from the bedroom Rita picked up the pace and allowed her brisk power walk to evolve into a jog, Tiffany's cries echoing along the narrow hallway as she wept after her. Looking back proved a costly mistake however as the top of the staircase came into view, the thick carpet trampled underfoot as both girls moved quickly, Tiffany having a slight advantage as her bare feet pushed her along, Rita's heels hampering her slightly as she heard Tiffany's voice once more behind her, a hand on her shoulder as she reached the top step of the staircase and found herself spun on the spot, her handbag flying out behind her as Tiffany grabbed the evidence bag from her grip, the knife come nail file sat within still stained with blood.

"Please." Tiffany begged. "I'm sorry!"

Finding her body spun with such uneven force, Rita felt her balance disappear, turning to face Tiffany, the evidence bag snatched from her hand as she reached towards Tiffany in blind panic, slowly beginning to fall backwards, the feeling intensifying and turning to terror as Tiffany began to realise exactly what was happening and took a step back, an evil smile snaking across her lips. Rita's eyes widened in utter disbelief, arms windmilling as she searched in desperation for something, anything, to grab on to as she felt herself go, Tiffany simply raising her hand, slowly beginning to wave, time seeming to slow down for the two of them as Rita's body fell backwards. As the back of her head made contact with the thick carpet of the staircase, Rita's chin jarred into her chest as Tiffany heard an enormous crack, Rita's neck breaking on impact as the rest of her body rolled over her, legs flailing as they became twisted in the wooden spindles of the staircase, another snap, her body now rolling faster and faster as gravity worked its magic and pulled Rita towards the ground floor. Faster still with every inch as her body slammed against the stairs like a rag doll, ribs puncturing lungs as they snapped, bones splintering within as organs began to bleed profusely. As she reached the thickly carpeted floor of the downstairs hall, Rita's body landed square on her back, her face completely lifeless as her lungs, now filling with blood, released one final breath. Taking a step forward and peering over the top step of the staircase, Tiffany's smile grew as she bit her lip, the exhilaration of the occasion taking over as she felt a thrill not experienced in years, a rush comparable to a mini orgasm as she surveyed the scene before her, the devastation sending a surge of ecstasy through her veins as she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, all immediate problems washed away, dying with Rita Hernandez. As she opened her eyes, she suddenly felt a sickness take hold, much worse than the feeling from just a moment previous, as her eyes fell on the frail, elderly body of Mrs Appleby, stood in shock by the side of Rita's carcass as she dropped to her knees and felt for a pulse, her head turning towards Tiffany and shaking slowly, mouth hanging open in perpetual shock.

Nothing.


	18. Chapter 3-6(b)

Chapter 3.6 (Part Two)

(Later That Day)

"...and that's when you saw Miss Hernandez fall?" Sheriff Kyle's voice broke the silence as he sat opposite Mrs Appleby, his broad shoulders and chiselled features lending him a more than formidable presence. From Mrs Appleby phoning the emergency services, the response had been fast. Ambulance arriving within minutes from a nearby town, Mount Carroll not blessed with its own medical centre. The police had already been on site as the medics arrived, Sheriff Kyle's underlings quickly unloading their vehicles, waiting patiently as the Sheriff and Deputy Warburton entered the house and assessed the situation, the word quickly coming down the radio that a fatality had indeed been confirmed. Now the various teams of medical and police personnel hurried frantically about the hall of Mrs Appleby's grand house, flashes from the photographer's camera, dust from the fingerprint kit settling around the scene of the crime, calls constantly coming over the radio as the coroner arrived and made his way up the huge stone steps out the front of the house. As the coroner entered, flanked by two assistants, the front door went with an earth shattering bang as a gust of wind whipped through the back door of the house and caused it to slam shut, alerting Mrs Appleby from something of a daze as she answered Sheriff Kyle's question.

"Yes, the poor thing." She spoke softly.

"And where exactly was Miss Valentine during all of this?" Sheriff Kyle asked once more.

Glancing into the hall, the door to the parlour open just a slither, Mrs Appleby eyes fell on Tiffany. Sat on a lone wooden chair, head in her hands, the blur of bodies around her, she looked lost, frightened, alone as she lifted her head as if on cue and gave a sincere look through the tiny crack in the door. Mrs Appleby's eyesight was in rapid decline alright, but even she could make out the puffed eyes and red cheeks, the tears slowly sliding over Tiffany's face as she solemnly sat.

"She must have been in her room." Mrs Appleby answered. "She seemed to arrive at the same time as me. It was probably the noise that made us both come running. Such a noise. Such a tragedy."

"I understand this is a difficult time." Sheriff Kyle gave a soft smile as he spoke, his eyes looking into Mrs Appleby's. "Just a couple more questions and we'll start to wrap things up."

"That's okay Sheriff, you take your time." Mrs Appleby returned his smile, taking a deep breath as she reached into her apron and pulled a handkerchief free, dabbing at her eyes as she sat through the seemingly endless interrogation.

"It's my understanding that Miss Valentine is here as part of a probation service? Rehabilitation program if you will. I take it Miss Hernandez was her probation officer?"

"That's right, yes." Mrs Appleby nodded.

"What kind of relationship did the two of them have?" The Sheriff asked, probing gently.

"I'm not sure I follow." Appleby seemed confused at the question.

"Did they get on? Was there any animosity at all? Was there any form of personal relationship between the two of them?" The questions kept coming.

"Personal?" Mrs Appleby seemed stunned.

"Anything, how can I put it..." He seemed embarrassed. "Not work related... Romantic?"

"Now listen here." The Mrs Appleby started, roaring as she shot from her seat. "That young girl is going through the wringer here just as I am. I don't know what in blazes you're trying to assume, but she and Rita got on better than I ever thought possible considering the circumtances. She's made mistakes, and she's the first to admit it, but by God above, if you carry on with this line of enquiry Sheriff, I'll be lodging a formal complaint. Do I make myself clear?"

"Please, Mrs Appleby, I don't mean to..." Sheriff Kyle started, the old girl firing up again, cutting him down like a wave of napalm.

"Coming in here, acting all high and mighty, tying to blame a terrible accident on that poor, defenceless girl. You oughtta be ashamed of yourself." Appleby continued to spit, Sheriff Kyle closing his notepad and grabbing his hat as he stood from the couch, his height not deterring Mrs Appleby one bit as his shadow fell over her.

"Mrs Appleby, I didn't mean anything by it. But these are questions that we have to ask. You'd be amazed at the amount of young offenders that form these kinds of relationships." The Sheriff tried to reason, placing his notepad in the breast pocket of his tan shirt.

"God damned perverted, that's what it is!" Appleby rallied on. "Now you listen to me young man. I've known you since you were knee high, all snot and chickenpox, and I always knew you'd end up a good boy, following your father into the police force, but you listen to me. What I saw was an accident. Plain and simple. Do you understand that? Because I'll stand in any court and swear on the good book that's what I saw."

"I appreciate that Mrs Appleby. But you understand this is all a formality, just making sure there's no foul play. Especially given the situation with Miss Valentine's track record." Kyle tilted his head, his hat tucked safely beneath his arm as he started to make his way to the parlour door, pulling it open to reveal Tiffany. Flashes commenced as photographers snapped away, the staircase, the chalk outline in the hall, anything everything recorded for future reference.

"Okay people, if we're all done then let's give these girls some space." Sheriff Kyle's voice rang out among his people, the gurney holding Rita's cold body wheeled past and towards the front door of the house as the coroner's vehicle waited outside, the baking sun and a huge flight of stone steps awaiting the unfortunate men tasked with the job of man handling the steel apparatus. As the house began to empty, as the various personnel evacuated the premises and returned to their vehicles, Mrs Appleby emerged from the parlour and approached Tiffany, unable to offer anything other than a smile and a gentle stroke of the shoulder.

"Don't worry." She sighed as she slowly, painfully dropped to a squatting position, the tears in Tiffany's eyes now plain to see.

"I could've helped!" Tiffany whispered, unable to look Appleby in the face.

"We'll have none of that!" Appleby snapped. "It was an accident, there was nothing you could do."

"Why are you being so nice?" Tiffany turned to face her, a hand raising from her crossed legs and wiping away a tear.

"Because we're a team you and me. Whether you like it or not." Mrs Appleby whispered with a grin. "Now why don't I go make us a nice cup of tea and we can try and put this whole, unfortunate incident behind us?"

Tiffany nodded as Mrs Appleby slowly rose to her feet, groaning as she did so, the old muscles and bones causing incredible discomfort as she stood upright. Tiffany slowly followed, the last of the police officers offering a sympathetic smile as he made an effort to quietly close the front door behind him, the quiet 'click' seemingly all the more audible in the newfound calmness of the house. As they entered the kitchen, the sunlight flooded in across the floor, shadows cast across each and every worktop as kitchen utensils, pots and pans lay unused along the sides, Mrs Appleby making her way to the kettle and flicking the switch, the water beginning to bubble and boil within a minute. Walking through the arch, from the hall and into the kitchen, Tiffany's eyes fell once more as they always did to the large wooden trunk sitting beside the door. The heavy padlock and sturdy construction made it obvious that Mrs Appleby didn't want anybody sticking their noses into her business, but Tiffany could see quite clearly that it had indeed been recently opened. Pulling out a chair from beneath the table, Tiffany squinted and tried to focus through tearful eyes. Their appeared to be some kind of fabric sticking out of the trunk. Denim by the looks, a kind of ocean blue, slightly tattered and muddy, dry dirt ground into the material, for some reason looking eerily familiar as Tiffany searched her memory for some form of reference, giving in quickly as she felt a headache start to pound her temples. Before long Mrs Appleby had arrived with a cup of tea each and a plate of biscuits, sinking to the chair opposite Tiffany as she quietly helped herself to something sweet. As the two of them sat around the kitchen table Mrs Appleby broke the silence, struggling in vein to drag a spark of life from Tiffany, the atmosphere morbid as an uneasy tension filled the air.

"What did you have planned for today dear?" She asked her young guest. "After work I mean."

"Jesus..." Tiffany snapped from her trance and shook her head. "I hadn't even thought. I was supposed to be going out for a movie with Joe... I don't really feel like it now."

"Well..." Mrs Appleby began. "No matter how much I disapprove of you dating that man, I think you should go."

"What?" Tiffany sighed, exhausted from the mornings events. "I couldn't... I..."

"You need to accept the fact it was an accident. Take it from me, I'm much older, much wiser than you think too." Mrs Appleby took a swig of her tea, a trickle of the nectar coloured fluid dribbling down her chin. "You let it consume you and you may as well lock yourself away for good."

"I don't know." Tiffany mumbled. "It wouldn't feel right."

"It probably won't." Appleby replied. "But I insist on it. We'll not be opening the store today either, call it a mark of respect or whatever, so I think the best thing is for you to jump back in bed and get some rest. No offence, but you look a fucking mess."

"I don't know whether to thank you, or hit you for saying that." Tiffany smiled, her warmth reciprocated by the old woman across the table.

"You do neither my dear." Mrs Appleby laughed. "Just promise me you'll not blame yourself."

'If only you knew...' Tiffany thought as the greasy, little woman she had suddenly come to respect sat across from her, a smile of innocence slapped across her face.

'If only you knew.'

Although Mrs Appleby's advice had been partly correct, Tiffany had still been in no mood for venturing out and attempting to have fun, Joe picking up on a sombre vibe and asking what was wrong. Of course Tiffany had told him she was fine, not wanting to go into details regarding the events of the day as they had driven the half hour along the interstate to the next town, Tiffany finding everything she had taken for granted whilst in the city was now only accessible by car, and in no less than half an hour at that. She'd remained quiet, although sociable, as they ate pizza, answering Joe's questions, even asking the odd one herself as she made more of an effort uncomfortable to say the least at the amount of beers Joe was helping himself to despite the fact he was driving. A short walk down the high street had found them standing in the dark, yet warm and invigorating air of the July evening as they queued for tickets to their movie, Tiffany not even putting up a fight as Joe suggested the latest Sylvester Stallone blockbuster 'Cliffhanger'. Tiffany wasn't sure what the hell could be considered interesting about a bunch of men climbing a bunch of rocks, but Joe seemed pretty excited so she figured what the hell. Truth was she could have sat through any movie of Joe's choice and the outcome would have been the same. Her eyes failed to focus, her ears failed to listen, her mind refused to cease wandering as she kept playing the events of the morning back in her head. Over and over she saw Rita, hand clutching out as she sought a helping hand, Tiffany stepping back and gladly watching her fall. Now that she thought about it, she'd taken a risk. She'd assumed Mrs Appleby to still be down at the store. Had the fall not killed Rita then it had been her sole intention to finish her off with something blunt, mind at ease the second she heard the loud, sickening crack as Rita's neck broke almost instantly, shock and panic then washing over her as she stepped forward and peered over the top step, Mrs Appleby's startled figure standing right by the body. See, Tiffany wasn't losing any sleep and worrying over the fact that she had idly stood by and watched another human being suffer, beg for help as she stepped back and offered nothing more than a wave. No, what Tiffany was worried about was something completely different.

"We have you. Do you understand now?" Rita had laughed, evidence laid bare as a feeling of nausea fell over Tiffany.

That was what worried Tiffany. The way Rita had worded it.

"We' have you..."

Who the fuck was 'we'? That was what played on Tiffany's mind as she tried desperately to get some sleep. Tried to eat pizza and laugh at Joe's jokes. Even now, in a movie theatre full of cigar smoke and the smell of body odour, as she tried to concentrate on the action unfolding on screen, all she could ask herself was the same question.

'Who is 'we'?

The end of the film hadn't come quick enough, Tiffany racing back to the car, almost ahead of Joe as he stopped to greet some friends he hadn't seen in months, even introduce them to Tiffany as he swayed slightly from left to right, the effects of one too many beers hampering his coordination slightly as he noticed Tiffany striding off, the car almost in sight as he was forced to play catch up. He had to admit as he followed on, that she looked exceptional tonight. Red platform heels, seamed stockings gracing legs that went all the way up, and the shortest little red dress Joe had ever seen made his loins ache as he followed her back to the car, excitement igniting in his brain as he envisioned the fun they could soon be getting up to. Unknown to poor old Joe, this was the last thing Tiffany had in mind, the clothes she wore offering nothing but comfort to her as she splashed some of her state funded 'allowance' on a few garments that she decided made her feel more at home in the god forsaken hell that was Mount Carroll. As the Chevrolet pulled down the side of Appleby's store, windows down as the warmth became too much, Joe turned the wheel and allowed the car to crawl to a stop as the car turned ninety degrees right, Mrs Appleby's hilltop house now resting in the background over Joe's shoulder, his back to the structure as he killed the engine and swivelled in his seat, giving Tiffany a drunken smile as he pressed a button on the centre console of the car, the doors clicking locked and startling Tiffany, her attention turned to the door beside her as she undid her seat belt. As she turned to him for an explanation she found herself taken by surprise, Joe's face up against hers all of a sudden as he pushed her back into the window of the passenger door, his tongue beginning to slide into her mouth as his lips gently caressed hers, his right hand grasping the back of her neck as his left hand shot to her exposed thigh , gradually beginning to work it's way north. Taking a deep breath and gathering her thoughts, hormones racing, Tiffany kissed back, her tongue now entwined with Joe's as she pushed back and allowed a dormant animal within to take over, her hands now shooting to the belt of his jeans and furiously working their magic, pulling down his zip and coaxing his penis from inside, the length and rigidness surprising her as she slowly began to massage him, pulling back his foreskin, back and forth, slowly at first, her fingers playfully stroking as she continued to kiss, Joe moaning as he too allowed his hands to wander. Working up Tiffany's thigh, his hand soon found its way under her already short dress and into her underwear, his fingers frantically making their way inside her as he slowly and firmly massaged her vagina, fingers entering her as Tiffany felt the erotic touch, a spark as Joe hit her clitoris bang on, the ripple of ecstasy sending a shudder through her as she began to stroke his penis faster, harder, his cries becoming more audible as he withdrew his hand and pulled away, exhaling in relief, their lips unlocking in a single moment of pure bliss. Squeezing her hand harder around his shaft, Tiffany used her free hand to grab Joe's chin, pulling his face back towards her as she squeezed his cheeks and plunged her tongue back into his mouth, passion taking over as she leaned forward and kissed viciously. Relinquishing her grip on both Joe's member and chin, Tiffany thrust her hands around the back of her tight red dress and fumbled, fingers and thumbs working overtime as she managed to grasp the zipper of her dress and savagely yank it down, slipping the straps of the garment over her shoulders and allowing the front of the dress to fall, her generous breasts now exposed as they cascaded over the fabric and sat proudly on display, Joe's eyes lighting up as Tiffany pulled away and leaned back against the door of the car, a seductive smile iniviting him in as he took full advantage and leaned over. Kissing her once more and allowing his hands to roam freely over the amazing shape and density of Tiffany's breasts, Joe erotically massaged her nipples, the beautiful peaks solidifying instantly and erecting, protruding from Tiffany's chest like bullets of ice as Joe kissed deeper, harder, his lips leaving hers as he began to move south. His hand returned to Tiffany's knickers once more as he slipped his fingers smoothly back inside her vagina, thumb stimulating the clitoris as his fingers massaged her internally, Joe's tongue now moving, licking and kissing down Tiffany's neck before arriving at her breasts. Running his tongue over her areolas, fingers working away below, Joe could feel Tiffany squirming in delight as she allowed a muffled groan to leave her lips, a gasp of pleasure as she felt the adrenaline of coitus pulse through her system, Joe's head now buried deep in her chest as Tiffany leaned her head back and closed her eyes, the magical moment upon her as she felt a euphoric feeling strangle her from within, her breath becoming shallow, quicker, more intense with every ripple of ecstasy as a firework exploded within her vagina. Letting out a satisfied scream of exhilaration, Tiffany brought a hand to her mouth, clenching her teeth together and biting down on the flesh, anything to stifle the cries of pleasure as the warm feeling surged on, Joe's fingers still labouring away, straining under the fabric of her underwear as he sensed the moment pass, Tiffany's short, rapid breaths not the only sign of her climax as Joe suddenly felt the release of fluid brought on by the ensuing orgasm, the ejaculate leaking across his fingers as Tiffany's knickers became gradually soaked. As she leaned further back, still caught in the midst of her first proper orgasm in years, Tiffany clenched her eyes shut and let her mind go, all manner of sexual thoughts and images sweeping through her mind as she let her brain wander, the release of hormones feeling like heaven as she felt pulse after pulse, surge after surge of pleasure from down below. Suddenly, as her mind roamed, she was greeted by an image. A familiar face, a time not forgotten but not often remembered as she visualized her old apartment, the damp walls, the clothes on the floor, even the smell as she found herself on all fours, nothing gacing her body except for the nylon stockings and slip on heels as she felt the same feeling of electricity coarse through her body as she did now, the voice in her ear making her eyes snap open as her heart skipped a beat.

Chucky's voice, as fresh as it was in that cold November night.

"We're not done yet!" He snarled, flipping her on to her back andeaning in, a malevolent, yet sexual smile greeting her as his tone drilled itself into her head with an agonising lust.

Waking abruptly from her state of sexual arousal, a nap of sorts, Tiffany panicked raising her arms and pushing Joe away, his head looking up in shock as he left the comfort of the warm, naked flesh of her breasts, his hand instantly recoiling in surprise from her underwear as Tiffany looked around, a disgusted look appearing on her face as she examined the interior of the car in revolt.

"I'm sorry..." She looked to Joe, fear and sadness written across her face as she began to pull the straps of her dress up over her shoulders, Joe's face twisting to one of unparalleled rage as he snarled back at her through gritted teeth.

"The hell you can't!" He spat, lunging forward, Tiffany caught off guard as she attempted to pull the bust of her dress back up, failing as Joe's hands grabbed her wrists and pinned her to the interior of the car door. Struggling with all her strength Tiffany tried to resist, powerless to resist as Joe buried his head in her chest once more his tongue running a perfect line between her magnificent breasts as he licked, breaking off and turning his attention, lips sucking, lingering on each nipple as he continued to subdue her. Jeans still hanging open, Tiffany caught sight of his erection, his huge penis stiff as a board as he transferred both her wrists to one hand, his grip still too powerful as the strength of one well toned arm held her in place, his free hand now moving back towards her vaginal area and slipping inside. Quickly withdrawing his fingers and pulling his head away from Tiffany's chest, he ran the digits along his tongue and smiled, the fresh taste of ejaculate seemingly to turn him on even more as he began to clamber over the centre console of the car, jeans slipping as he attemotednto climb on top of geez his erection brushing against her leg as Tiffany simply closed her eyes and awaited the inevitable. All the while she thought. Was this her fault? Had she led him on? Then another voice seemed to answer. Of course she had. But now, she was saying no.

"You don't expect to have your fun then send me home without do you Tiff?" He sneered as he climbed upon her, his spare hand now savagely tearing at her underwear, attempting to yank the delicate lace down her legs as Tiffany felt her body go cold, lifeless as she held her breath and clamped her mouth shut. It was at this moment that all movement stopped, the rustle of fabric and grunting of this, once seemingly charming, man ceasing suddenly as a stomach churning 'click' echoed around the small confines of the Chevrolets interior.

"This doesn't look like consent to me." Mrs Appleby's voice swarmed through the air causing Joe to turn in shock, the cold steel of the barrel of the shotgun brushing against his ear as he did so, mouth agape in horror as he fell back into the driver's seat. The old woman aiming the shotgun straight through the window, Joe's head only an inch or two away, it was obvious that the weight of the firearm may be too much, the barrel swaying unevenly as she tightened her grip, curled her finger around the trigger. As Tiffany pulled the straps of her dress over her shoulders and quickly adjusted her underwear, she turned and grasped the door handle, feverishly pulling as the door remained locked.

"The doors." Mrs Appleby said, motioning with the shotgun. "Open them!"

Without saying a word and moving incredibly slow, Joe turned to the centre console of the car and pressed a button, the locks of the two car doors instantly springing open as Tiffany tried again, successful this time as the heavy steel door flew open, freedom at last. Watching Tiffany exit the vehicle and suddenly remembering his jeans, now wide open and resting around his ankles, Joe turned to Mrs Appleby and stared back down the barrel of the gun, the two steel tubes trembling as the old woman struggled with the length and weight of the gun.

"I know what you're thinking." Mrs Appleby snapped as Tiffany came to a rest by her side, wiping the tears from her face as she looked in any direction but Joe's. "You're thinking that this is too heavy for an old woman like me."

"I'm thinking we should just calm down." Joe stuttered, raising both hands in the air, slowly and in the direction of the gun, Mrs Appleby pulling back and out of reach.

"I guess you're thinking you could take this from me too." She spat. "Well you could try. Maybe i won't put a bullet in your head."

"I'm not gonna lie, the thought had crossed my mind." Joe smiled nervously.

"All why don't you give it a go? " She asked, still staring down the barrel. "Of course, there's always the chance I could blow your damned dick off." Mrs Appleby smiled, Joe's face a picture as his hands dropped to cover his exposed genitals.

"Look I'm sorry. Tiffany..." He raised his voice, leaning out the open window in an effort to gain her undivided attention. "Please, would you just tell her? I admit things got out of hand, but come on!"

"Just go." Tiffany crossed her arms, unable to look Joe in the eye, her voice breaking under the tension.

"Please." Joe continued to protest, arcing his back and digging his chin into his chest, struggling to pull his jeans up, managing with great awkwardness as he fastened his belt and zipped hismself up. "I didn't mean anything. I'm sorry, okay?"

"She's asked you to leave." Mrs Appleby spoke, the barrel of the gun now working its way along the side of the vehicles immaculate, yellow paintwork, the explosion deafening as the little old woman pulled the trigger, missing by inches as dirt flew into the air. A group of birds screamed in terror, taking flight from a nearby tree and scattering across the landscape as Joe immediately reached under the steering column and found the key, twisting at once as the huge engine fired into life. Slipping the car into gear, he muttered a few obscenities over his shoulder as he applied pressure to the throttle and lifted the clutch, a cloud of dust filling the air as the Chevrolets wheels span, digging into the dirt as the tail end of the car drifted, Joe correcting the steering as he sped down the side of the barn and past Appleby's Store, straight into the empty street beyond as he charged toward the interstate and the safety of his own home. Watching with a feeling of comfort and relief, Tiffany turned to Mrs Appleby, noticing for the first time her hair held up in rollers, the stained dressing gown almost touching the floor and the facepack applied liberally creating a pure white mask upon the old girl's skin.

"Thank you." Tiffany smiled, twisting the sole of her heel into the dirt. "If you hadn't come along then I don't know what I'd have done."

Gun lowered, turning from the fleeing Chevrolet and staring with conviction at the broken young lady before her, Mrs Appleby simply muttered.

"You should've just done what you did last time..." Appleby said, turning to face the house, the steps leading up illuminated by the moonlight.

"Meaning?" Tiffany asked, perplexed.

"You should've just stabbed the fucker!" Mrs Appleby calmly replied as she started to walk off, dressing gown dragging along the dry, dusty ground as she headed back to the house.

Tiffany stood in shock, slightly amused at the dryness of the old woman's voice as she turned and followed on behind.

Maybe Mrs Appleby wasn't as bad as she thought.

Little did Tiffany know...

August 4th 1993 (Nine Days Later)

A darkness had fallen over Mount Carroll recently, the weather forecast predicting nothing but heavy rain and strong, northernly gales for the foreseeable future, the heat and humidity of the previous week disappearing in the blink of an eye as clouds rolled overhead, thunder and lightning following as Mrs Appleby declared it to be the worst summer she had ever known.

"God damned phones! I'll tell you who's to blame for all this." She had crowed from behind the cash register of the store, slamming the receiver down as the dead line sat in silence, enlightening Tiffany as she wiped down the shelves of the aisles, bucket of warm soapy water by her side as she knelt, hands a blur, working as fast as she could.

"I'm listening." Tiffany yelled over the height of the aisle, the warmth enveloping her as she made herself audible over the noise of the rain, slamming into the front window of Appleby's Store, the wind whipping the drops of water faster with every gust as the letterbox clattered incessantly in the draught.

"NASA..." Mrs Appleby hollered back, a 'matter of fact' quality about her tone, the reply sounding completely idiotic as Tiffany stood upright and shot her a look of amusement.

"Oh please." Tiffany laughed. "What the hell makes you say that?"

"Gut feeling." Mrs Appleby replied.

"That's ridiculous." Tiffany swooped and grabbed the bucket of water, once clear and fragrant, now black and thick with dirt. "Why do old people always blame things they don't understand?"

"I'm telling you, the weather's been screwed ever since started messing about in space. You can't tell me all this fuel they use going up and down doesn't affect the weather. Or should I say the environment..."

"I like somebody that can make me laugh." Tiffany chuckled as she strolled past the old woman and headed to the restroom, bucket in hand as she ventured in and proceeded to pour the acrid sludge down the sink. As she returned to the shop floor she heard the familiar jingle of the bell above the door, the wind almost blowing it from its hinges as a figure entered, struggling as it turned and pushed the door shut, the roar of the wind and the sudden puddle of rainwater not impressing the two women as stock was blown from the shelves, the gale racing through the Appleby establishment. Tall and rather thin, Tiffany and Mrs Appleby looked upon their customer with a curiosity as the figure removed its heavy raincoat, carefully unwinding the scarf that had been wrapped around the neck to reveal a black suit, the white shirt and black tie accompanying, lending the figure, that now appeared to be a man, a sombre presence. Strolling down the aisle and towards the carnage, Tiffany stopped as the man gave his head a shake and cleared his head before taking a look around, suddenly mortified at the mess he had inadvertently created.

" Oh my God, I'm so sorry." He apologised, squatting and beginning to pick up packets of chips, popcorn and various other snacks his eyes shooting to Tiffany as she dropped to her knees beside him.

"Don't worry about it." She replied, grabbing the bags and placing them back on the shelves.

"It's just that wind..." The man continued, seemingly lost for words as he placed the items back, irritating Tiffany in the process.

"Please." Tiffany snapped, palms of her hands shooting into the air in a futile gesture to keep calm. "Just leave it. I know where everything goes."

"If you're sure." The stranger handed her what he had in his hands, Tiffany snatching them instantly as he ran his fingers through his hair. "This is Appleby's Store isn't it?"

"That's what it says in the window." Tiffany replied nonchalantly as she finished restacking the shelves, gesturing with a nod of her head towards the window of the store.

"Thank God." The man replied standing upright, sauntering past Tiffany and approaching the counter and Mrs Appleby, his gangly frame striding effortlessly across the wooden floor of the store as he offered a friendly smile and held out his hand, Mrs Appleby returning the gesture as they greeted each other with a gentle shake. "You must be Mrs Appleby."

"That's right." Mrs Appleby replied, curiosity peaking, surprised to say the least that the young man before her knew her by name.

"It's all exactly like I imagined." The stranger gushed taking a look around, his head spinning left, then right, his short dark hair sopping wet, despite the best efforts of the rain coat, recently removed. "You, your store, the town, everything... Just like I imagined."

"Don't take this the wrong way young man." Mrs Appleby smiled. "But just who are you exactly?"

"Oh, please forgive me." The young man began digging in the pocket of his raincoat, easier said than done as he held the coat in an oustretched arm, eventually pulling his hand free and showing a form of identification, Chicago Police Department stamped across the top in bold letters. "My name is Will Hunter. I'm a friend of Rita's?"

Tiffany stood and turned her voice ringing across the store as she spoke, unable to help herself as her lips moved automatically, a chill developing down her spine.

"You're a friend of Rita's?" She asked, Will turning and offering a smile as anxiety took a hold of Tiffany. "Rita Hernandez?"

"That's right." Will replied. " Or I was. I've just come from the funeral. I heard a lot about this place recently and thought I'd take a drive out, you know, clear my head."

"Oh yes, that poor girl." Mrs Appleby sighed as she stood. "Such a tragic accident. It left us very saddened, she was a lovely girl. So kind."

"Well I'm sure the family will take comfort in your words ma'am." Will bowed his head.

"What exactly did you hear about this place?" Tiffany asked, approaching the counter where Will and Mrs Appleby now stood.

"Quite a bit." Will laughed. "Seems lately she was never away from this place... You... You must be Tiffany?"

Tiffany narrowed her eyes as Will reached out, hand extended in a gesture of friendship. Grabbing hold and offering a firm shake, Tiffany's hairs stood on end.

"How do you know that?" She asked, slightly disturbed.

"Let's just say your name came up quite a lot this last month or so." Will smirked as he released Tiffany's hand. "She found you interesting to say the very least. In fact it's you I'm here to see."

"Really?" Tiffany asked, her eyes skipping from Will, to Mrs Appleby, the old woman just as surprised.

"Indeed. Is there perhaps somewhere we can talk in private?" Will looked around as he clapped his hands together, rubbing vigorously in an effort to warm himself through.

"Err..." Tiffany stammered, Mrs Appleby raising her hand slightly and answering for her, pointing back over her shoulder and towards the office door.

"You can use the office." She beamed. "Now Mr Hunter, can I fetch you anything? A hot drink? Maybe something to eat?"

"That's very kind, but I'm okay, thank you." Will replied, oozing charm as he spoke. "As a matter of fact I don't think I'll be here too long."

"Well if you're sure." Mrs Appleby stepped to one side, waving the pair of them through, Tiffany grasping the handle of the office door and twisting, stepping inside as the door creaked open and hitting the lights, the office now illuminated as Will also stepped over the threshold and entered the small room. Standing in the doorway, Mrs Appleby began to lullnthe door closed, stopping momentarily as she addressed Tiffany.

"I'll give you two some privacy. I'm going to do a stock check and place some orders while it's quiet." The old girl said, before turning and giving Will a smile as he took a seat opposite Tiffany, the solid desk between them. Without saying another word, Mrs Appleby closed the door, the catch landing in the groove of the door frame with a 'click'. An awkward silence descended over the small office, Tiffany apprehensive as she sought the words, all the while trying to remain calm.

"So Mr Hunter." She began, placing her elbows upon the desk, hands clenched together as they cradled her chin. " Or may I call you Will?"

"You can call me Mr Hunter." Will replied calmly. Emotionless, as his head turned from the office door, eyes landing on Tiffany as he leaned forward in his seat and allowed the pleasant look to slip from his face, a more solemn appearance taking over as his smile disappeared. Sensing the impending hostility, Tiffany sat back and braced herself as Will continued. "I warned her not to come you know..."

"I'm sorry?" Tiffany asked.

"Here." Will answered. "To confront you with everything. I told her how it would end, that somebody with your obvious disregard for life would be better dealt with by people more, what's the word... Experienced in violent altercations."

"Listen, I don't know what you are assuming..." Tiffany started, interrupted immediately as Will leaned back and folded his arms across his chest.

"I even made her carry a side arm." He allowed a little laugh to escape his lungs as he slowly began to shake his head. "Some good that did her. But well done, I have to applaud you. Falling down the stairs? Was that planned or did opportunity just present itself?"

"Mr Hunter, I don't know what you are getting at, but I can assure you of this." Tiffany paused. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh I know alright." Will slammed his fist into the surface of the desk. "I know about your incarceration. Attempted murder was it?"

"Self defence if you must know." Tiffany smirked.

"I also know about Harry Marsh, Gabriella Cortez, John Duncan, even your good friend Charles Lee Ray." Will grinned. "Who do you think did all the digging while Rita was out here keeping you sweet?"

"I'm going to take a guess that you have more of a desk job." Tiffany leaned forward running her eyes up and down the man before her, a flashback to Rita's pager, the resulting phone call as Tiffany stood right here in the office and pressed 'redial'. "Would I be right in thinking forensics?"

"That would be telling." Will answered. "Needless to say I have enough evidence, in a secure location I might add, far away from anybody whose eyes light up at the flash of a full wallet, to put you away for good."

"But you don't!" Tiffany stood suddenly, arms flying to either side of the desk as she leaned over and hissed at Will. " So stop with the act!"

"Oh it's no act!" Will retorted through clenched teeth, his voice a whisper as the office door slowly freaked open, a knocking sound as Mrs Appleby's face appeared round the corner.

"I'm sorry to disturb the two of you." She softly spoke. "Tiffany, I don't feel too good. I have the start of one of my heads, so if you don't mind I'm going to head up to the house and have an hour in bed."

"That's fine." Tiffany smiled. "I'll keep an eye on things down here. You go take it easy and I'll be up in a bit."

"You're a good girl." Mrs Appleby gushed, turning to Will as she closed the door behind her. "It was nice meeting you Mr Hunter."

"Likewise Mrs Appleby." He replied. "I'm sure I'll be back soon. Hell, you'll not be able to keep me away."

With that Mrs Appleby closed the door to the office, the back entrance of the store going with a bang as the door slammed shut behind her.

"I'm going to give you some advice Mr Hunter." Tiffany sat back down, sinking into the soft, luxurious leather chair. "Let it go. You have nothing to connect me to any of these cases."

"You seem pretty sure about that." Will seemed unnerved.

"The one thing, the link that held your entire theory together is in my possession. Apart from a few 'circumstantial' fingerprints, you have nothing!"

"I don't need that knife to prove you killed those people." Will snarled as he slammed his fist once more into the desk. "Your kind always leave things that eventually come round and bite you in the ass."

"Not this time." Tiffany spat. " Now take my advice and let it go."

"I can't!" He replied.

"Let me tell you something about Rita's 'accident' Mr Hunter." Tiffany smiled, standing from her seat and walking a circle around the office, Will's eyes failing to leave her, anger projected in his look. "She didn't die doing the right thing. Nor did she die a brave and noble death."

"What the hell is your point Valentine?"

"I was there you see..." Tiffany bent over behind Will, her lips inches from his ear as she whispered, her breath warm on his neck. Standing and continuing to pace the office, Tiffany carried on. "True, I could have helped. But why would I help a person that had just demonstrated how easy they would find it to send me back to prison? Where was my incentive? So yes, I stood and watched as she fell."

"I don't believe you're admitting it." Will seemed astonished, swivelling in his seat. "You're a damned psychopath!"

"I heard her neck snap." Tiffany continued, her fingers now playfully twisting a curl of hair as she spoke, satisfaction and pride in her tone. "It wasn't a big snap. Kind of like... I don't know... Standing on a dry twig."

Will remained silent, an internal rage burning brighter with every second as Tiffany described the incident in great detail, returning to her chair but choosing instead to perch herself on the side of the desk as she carried on.

"But do you know something?" She asked as she sat, legs dangling over the edge of the desk.

"What?" Will quietly answered.

"Right before she fell, I could see it in her eyes. Regret... She would have still been here if she'd done one simple thing, and she knew it. Do you know what that was?"

Will didn't say a word, a feeling of nausea working it's way up from the pit of his stomach, a gentle shake of the head all the energy he could muster as Tiffany gently leaned toward him and whispered.

"She should have just let... it... go."

Without warning Will leapt from his chair, arms stretching towards Tiffany as she attempted to get out of the way, too little too late as Will's hands wrapped tightly around her throat. Lifting Tiffany from the desk with a strength cometely unexpected, Will rammed her into the wooden wall of the office and held her there, his face now inches from Tiffany's as a tear began to roll down his cheek. Tightening his grip, Tiffany's hands shot to Will's wrist, all attempt at freeing herself from his grip proving futile as she gasped in horror, air intake seriously reduced.

"Now you listen here you little bitch!" His words oozing venom. "I'm going straight to the homicide department when I get back and I'm telling them everything, knife or no knife to link you with those murders. Do you understand?"

Tiffany nodded, pinned to the wall and beginning to feel faint she knew she had no other option but to hear Will out and pray he let go, her vision becoming obscured slightly.

"Now I'm going to phone the sheriffs office and get them down here. Even if I have to plant evidence, because that my dear is what you deserve. Justice. Cold, hard and rough, which judging by the state of you, is exactly how you like it!" Will released his grip and took a step back, Tiffany's hands instantly flying to her neck as she bent double and began to suck the beautiful fresh air inwards, her lungs aching with each breath. As Will regained his composure he turned to Mrs Appleby's desk and grabbed the phone, pulling it across the surface of the desk and lifting the receiver to his ear. As Tiffany looked on, she felt a sigh of relief as Will started dialling, only to pause and repeatedly press the hook switch, the lack of dial tone causing him to turn and grab Tiffany bybthebthroat once more, heaving her into the wall again as her head hit the solid wood with a sickening 'thud'.

"Why doesn't the phone work?" He snarled, Tiffany now groggy as she closed her eyes and answered honestly.

"It's the storm." She moaned, her words slightly slurred. "They've been out for hours."

"There was a pay phone across the street." Will remembered, lifting Tiffany's head up in an effort to stop her blacking out. " Will that be working?"

"I don't know." Tiffany answered, again as honestly as she could. "Maybe."

Letting go and allowing Tiffany to drop to the floor, Will turned and quickly grabbed his raincoat and scarf from the arm of his chair, yanking the door to the office open at an alarming rate as he entered the store. Maybe it was the speed at which he opened the office door, but Will could have sworn the door to the back entrance to Appleby's Store had moved. As though somebody had just passed through it in a hurry, the door just coming to a stop as he entered the store and began to work his way through the aisles and towards the front entrance. Hearing the wind whistle through the letterbox, the rain hitting the huge store front window like a hail of silenced machine gun fire, Will grabbed the handle of the door and twisted, the gust of wind almost knocking him from his feet as the rain sting his face. Forced to shield his eyes from the gale, the heavy downpour only worsening since his arrival, Will pushed on and crossed the car park, the huge puddles spreading across the dirt, growing with every second as the clouds rumbled overhead, the evening cast into perpetual darkness as the sun remained lost behind a blanket of grey. As Will crossed the street, legs pushing on as the force of the wind only grew stronger, he reached the phone booth, sliding the flimsy, plastic door open and hauling himself inside as he turned and slid the door shut, the wind now nothing but a noise as the phone booth rocked from side to side. Fishing into the pocket of his raincoat and withdrawing a fist full of coins, Will fished out a quarter and lifted the handset from it's cradle, inserting the quarter and hearing the hollow rattle as the coin reappeared in the slot below, the money dropping straight through. In disbelief, Will held the handset to his ear and cursed out loud, the lack of a dial tone indicating the phones in the immediate vicinity were indeed out of order, Tiffany seemingly telling the truth. Smashing the handset back into it's mounting, Will took a deep breath and thought about his next move. The only thing he could do now was wait until he reached the city, maybe put a call into one of the homicide team. If he explained things then they could possibly present the remaining evidence, it could possibly be enough to gain a warrant and search the premises, hopefully recover the knife that Tiffany now had in her possession. As much as Will didn't like to admit it, the whole case rested on that knife. It was the lynchpin of his and Rita's investigation and without it Tiffany was right, the evidence was flimsy, the fingerprints from Marsh's car could be explained in any number of ways. And as for the fingerprints collected by Rita herself, no doubt inadmissable due to the manner in which they were obtained. No. It wasn't going to plan, that was for sure, but he still had time. Time to work. Time to set the wheels in motion and catch her off guard, the priority now being obtaining a search warrant and coming back with the proper authorities. Clearing his head and gathering his thoughts, Will knew what he had to do, turning and grabbing the door of the phone booth, taking a deep breath before sliding it open and heading back into the cold, wet and incredibly blustery evening. Crossing the road and dodging the ever growing puddles of rainwater now covering the majority of Mrs Appleby's car park, Will narrowed his eyes and held his breath, the ferocious wind almost sucking the air from his lungs as the torrential downpour tried valiantly to blind him, almost succeeding as he approached his car, the warm, dry and comforting interior of the black Audi S3 seeming to call him on, Will completely oblivious as, round the other side of the car, the rear, passenger side door of the vehicle closed with an almost inaudible click.

The drive back had started as well as could be expected, the rain lashing at the windshield as the wipers frantically worked back and forth, rapidly swinging left to right as the rubber squeaked across the curve of the glass, the wind buffeting the car as Will headed to the interstate, the wide open expanse of fields offering zero protection from the strong gales. As he approached the next junction, he became alarmed at a knocking sound, a 'thud' emanating from the rear of the vehicle as the car slowed to a stop, the car beginning to rock as the knocking turned to a grating noise, increasing in volume, the vibration rippling throughout the vehicle as the car came to a stop.

"God dammit!" Will spat as he clenched the steering wheel, the vehicle beginning to pull slightly to the right as he pulled to the side of the road.

Reaching over to the passenger seat beside him, Will grabbed his raincoat and opened the driver's door, the wind almost blowing the car door back into him as he stood, the rain stinging his face as he threw the raincoat over his shoulders and slipped his arms down the length of the sleeves, working quickly to fasten the buttons as he inspected the side of the vehicle. Pissed off, but also slightly relieved, Will stooped to a squatting position and inspected the rear, passenger side wheel, the nail protruding from the wall of the rubber tyre as the rain flowed over the puncture, the last breath of air causing the water to bubble as it did so. Shielding his eyes, Will shook his head in disbelief. What a time. What a place. Quickly standing, wasting no time, Will strolled to the rear of the car and opened up the trunk, lifting the carpeted base to reveal the spare wheel. As a clap of thunder roared overhead, he unscrewed the retaining bolt and lifted, a crackle of lightning illuminating the horizon as Will dropped the wheel to the floor and rolled it to the side of the Audi. Struggling to stay on his feet, Will returned to the trunk and reached inside, pulling the jack free from it's housing and immediately dropping to the cold, wet cement. As he lay on his back shuffling to get the jack in the just the right place, the lip of the cars chassis evading him in the darkness of the evening, he felt his body tense, the cold water now seeping under his raincoat and working its way up his trouser leg and down his sleeve. Finally finding the jacking point, Will began winding, the body of the jack beginning to work its way up the lead screw, sliding its way upwards as it began to lift the vehicle from the road. Stopping briefly and rising to a kneeling position, Will slipped the tyre wrench over the first wheel nut and stood, placing his hand on the roof of the car as he applied pressure with the sole of his foot, the nut seized on, loosening with every ounce of pressure until finally the sickening 'crack' exploded through the air and the wrench spun freely. Continuing in the same manner with the remaining wheel nuts, it wasn't long before Will had the new tyre on and the flat thrown in the back of the car, slamming the trunk closed as the rain proceeded to fall. Faster, harder, heavier as the wind whipped through the drenched material of his raincoat, the water cascading down Will's back and making him grimace as the ice cold temperatures sent a shudder across his shoulders. Lifting a dripping sleeve and wiping the water from his face, Will made his way along the side of the car, reaching the driver's door and quickly pulling it open, the interior light sparking into life as a a monotonous 'beep' emanated from within, the vehicle warning an evacuating driver of the fact the headlights of the car remained turned on. Climbing inside and once more wiping the rainwater from his eyes, Will pulled the car door closed and yanked his seatbelt across his chest, securing it in the housing by his right hand side. The only indication of rain now came from the constant hammering above, the rain hitting the roof of the car at an alarming rate as he sat and caught his breath. As Will slowly leaned forward and slid the key beneath the steering column, into the ignition barrel, a figure slowly, and silently, rose from the rear of the car, knife in hand as it sat from its hiding place. The long hair saturated, the face twisted in anger, as a bolt of lightning erupted behind, the silhouette catching Will's attention as he leaned back in his seat, eyes drawn to the rear view mirror, to the figure and the look of barbaric hatred.

"You?" Will began, twisting in his seat as he felt for the release catch of his seatbelt, too late as the mystery figure raised its hand, the knife held firmly in its grasp. Without saying a word, the assailant arced its arm downwards, knife cutting the air silently, quickly as Will suddenly felt the cold steel pierce the skin of his neck. As he let forth a blood curdling scream, he cowered, raising his hands as he tried to hold of the attack, twisting his body and feeling the hard leather bound steering wheel of the Audi pushing against his ribs. As the knife came down, time after time, Will felt his flesh parting viciously. Arms, hands, wrists, the knife slicing through the skin and severing multiple veins and arteries as he began to black out, strength evading him as his arms began to drop and his vision became cloudy, the knife now sinking once again into the soft flesh of Will's neck. Over and over, his screams becoming less each time, the cold steel punctured his flesh and allowed blood to gush from the wounds, his desperate pleas for help, the cries asking why, dying to a barely audible whisper. Seeing the lack of fight dwindle, Will's attacker seemed only to up the force behind each thrust, increasing the frequency and ferocity as an evil cackle reverberated around the interior of the car. As he started to lose consciousness, Will's body began to feel colder, numb. Yet the agony searing through him only seemed to grow and grow, the blade slicing through his skin repeatedly as he felt a sticky, viscous fluid rising from within, the blood beginning to spill from his mouth as he closed his eyes. With the body laying slumped, almost in the footwell of the driver's seat, the assailant leaned forward even further, bursting forward with a wicked cackle as the knife cut straight through Will's neck, the head almost completely separated from the body as it flopped backwards to reveal a network of severed arteries, the neck now more or less nothing short of a bloodied stump. Retracting the knife and sinking to one of the rear seats, the attacker laid back there head and smiled malevolently, taking a deep breath as an exhilarated sigh escaped their lungs, the rain on the roof of the Audi the only sound.

Nobody would be finding out about that evidence.

She had seen to that.


	19. Chapter 3-7(a)

Chapter 3.7 (Part One - Jack Fuller)

June 7th 1994 (Ten Months Later)

Silence hung over the small, rustic store. The constant 'tick-tock' of the clock, sitting above the counter, the only sound as a calmness enveloped the small, wooden building and lent a pleasant atmosphere as the deserted business sat motionless, time seeming to stop briefly as the door to the office slowly opened. Slowly and confidently leaving the office, Tiffany smiled a beautiful, wide, carefree smile as she emerged into the stifling heat, the summer weather beating its way in through the huge storefront window. Turning and allowing her guest to follow on, Tiffany pulled the office door closed behind them and extended an outstretched hand.

"Well that was a lot of easier than I imagined it would be." She grinned, the man standing before her returning her smile as he clicked the lid on his fountain pen and closed the folder sat in his hand, accepting her hand and giving it a shake. Not the tallest, nor indeed the most attractive, man Tiffany had ever met, Anthony Kennedy had the privilege of being referred to Tiffany's probation case following the death of Rita Hernandez, the coroner and police reports both arriving at the verdict of 'accidental death'. Hitting the ground running it had taken Tiffany time to become trusting, Rita's behind the scenes investigating leading to many a restless night over the last ten months. Nevertheless, here she stood, beaming from ear to ear as her end of year assessment came to a close, Anthony offering nothing but a glowing reference as they laughed and joked as though they'd known each other for years, Tiffany seeming to warm towards him as time passed. Just under six feet tall, slightly overweight and with some of the worst breath Tiffany had ever had the misfortune to come across, Anthony had gone above and beyond recently, lifting Tiffany's curfew, reducing the 'check in' frequency down at the local Sheriff's Office and now offering her optimism as she entered the final six months of her probation period, a move back to the city and possibly long term employment to boot if she kept up the good work.

"What did I tell you?" Anthony laughed. "I don't know why you were so worried. You dot every 'I', cross every 'T', this review couldn't have been any more straight forward."

"I know, I know." Tiffany sighed, releasing Anthony's hand. "But it's like my mother used to say... 'Plan for the worst, hope for the best'."

"Wow." Anthony stepped back in a mixture of surprise and humour. "Appleby alert."

"Jesus." Tiffany closed her eyes and shook her head. "Did I really just say that? I need to get out of here."

"Get your head down, and I swear this next six months will be a blur." Anthony advised as he placed the folder upon the counter of the store, fishing through his pockets and pulling out a pack of cigarettes, opening the pack to reveal nothing, the empty cardboard container immediately feeling the wrath of an anxious smoker as he screwed up the packet and tossed it to the trash can by the office door.

"All out?" Tiffany asked with a sly laugh.

"Looks that way." He answered, scanning the aisles as he turned and examined the store. "Don't suppose you have any menthols do you?"

"Sure do." She replied with an infectious giggle. "Third aisle, next to the magazines and newspapers."

Walking into the centre of the store, eyes whizzing from left to right, Anthony stopped, dropping to a squatting position as he snatched a pack of cigarettes from the shelf and examined the price.

"Jesus..." He stood holding the pack for Tiffany to see.

"What's wrong?" She asked as she stood by the cash register, attention drawn from the open magazine hidden beneath the counter.

"Has the old witch cornered the tobacco industry?" Anthony asked as he turned the pack towards him, his eyes taking in the price once more. "These prices are crazy!"

"You don't have to tell me." Tiffany mumbled, pulling her own pack of cigarettes from beneath the counter. Removing a solitary cigarette, she allowed the filter to delicately sit between her lips, lipstick instantly marking the orange tip as she struck the flint of her lighter and held the flame, slowly inhaling as she felt the warm and comforting rush of nicotine beginning to enter her system. Watching on, the craving becoming too strong to simply ignore, Anthony held the pack of menthols tight and returned to the counter, placing the smokes before Tiffany as he began to fish the change from his pockets.

"Damn near extortionate." He muttered under his breath. "No wonder she never has any customers."

"Don't worry about it." Tiffany took another suck on the end of her cigarette, raising her hand as if to wave his money away. "She'll never know."

"Miss Valentine, I do believe that's stealing." He started, lifting the folder from the surface of the counter and peeling it open.

"What?" Tiffany asked, stunned.

"I'm joking." Anthony laughed, snapping the folder shut as he picked the pack of cigarettes from besides the cash register, jamming them in his pocket.

"I should charge you for those now." Tiffany laughed as Anthony turned and began making his way to the door, gesturing over his shoulder as he pulled open the door to Appleby's Store.

"I'll see you next month Tiff." He hollered back through the door.

"Okay." She replied, watching, waiting as the door slammed closed behind him, safe in the knowledge that she was now alone. "You fat fuck!"

Finally, the feeling of revulsion could pass, the sickly manner in which she ramped the charm up to number eleven and pretty much proceeded to smile, giggle, flirt and agree her way through every single meeting could take a back seat as she watched Anthony climb behind the wheel of his Jeep, cigarette in hand as he slammed the door closed and started the engine. True he had become a push over, a teddy bear compared to the way Rita had turned out, but the amount of flirting and fluttering of the eye lashes hadn't been overestimated as Tiffany toyed with him. All the way from day one, assessing the best way to play him along, pull the strings and effectively write her own reports, influence her own recommendations as she played the nice girl act to a tee. Right now, with the sickly feeling washing over her, his breath still fresh on her face, Tiffany had to laugh as Mrs Appleby entered through the rear of the store. Shuffling across the rough, wooden floor, slippers rapidly scraping along, the old girl tied her apron strings tight as she greeted Tiffany with a suspicious look.

"The hell are you laughing at?" She asked Tiffany, arms waving the cloud of cigarette smoke from her face as she approached the counter.

"Nothing much." Tiffany replied, quickly stubbing the cigarette in the ashtray by her side, closing the magazine and hiding it down the side of the cash register.

"Where's lover boy?" Mrs Appleby asked as she looked around the store. "Let me guess. Even he feels nauseous after an hour of you sucking up to his fat ass?"

"Oh please." Tiffany rolled her eyes. "Nothing wrong with a little harmless flirting."

"Never happened in my day." Appleby muttered on, slowly stooping to one of the many shelves before her as she rearranged a few odds and ends. "My mother used to say, 'you can always smell it, on women that sell it'."

"Is there anything your mother 'didn't' used to say?" Tiffany asked, Appleby's head snapping in her direction as she finished her sentence.

"Well she never said sarcasm and bad manners were a winning combination, so cut it out!" She angrily retorted.

"Sorry." Tiffany mumbled. Although rocky at first, it was a pleasant relationship that now existed between the two women, Tiffany's respect soaring after the Rita Hernandez event, Mrs Appleby never once allowing a bad word or even a rumour to evolve into gossip as she valiantly stood by Tiffany and gave a statement in her defence, the coroner concluding a broken neck, attained in the fall, to be the cause of a sudden and painless death. An article even appeared in the local paper, explaining Tiffany's history alongside the death of her probation officer, sending Mrs Appleby into a furious spiral of anger and resentment as she phoned the editor and warned him of future conduct, otherwise she'd see to it that his insipid little rag never made it onto a newsstand within fifty kilometres of Mount Carroll. Tiffany had been overcome with emotion, simply asking why the old dear was so intent on keeping her name clear. Her answer? Tiffany could remember it now, warm, yet with an eerie chill to it.

"Because we're friends." Her reply had been accompanied by a wide smile. "Friends to the end."

From that point on things had changed between the two of them, for the better. Tiffany found a respect, an interest in the history behind this little old woman. The more she asked, the more she found out. The happiness of past years, the heartbreak of losing her husband, the news that her womb was barren, no children ever to Grace the Appleby household, the trauma still residing deep within to this very day as she took Tiffany further and further under her wing, sheltered her from any impending danger and tried her hardest to keep her on the straight and narrow. The year had let her see Tiffany blossom, the beautiful young girl, once full of hatred and rebellion, now considered by Mrs Appleby to be the daughter she had never been given the chance to have.

"Listen." Mrs Appleby slowly stood, her old back only just bearing up as she grabbed a hold of the shelf before her. "It's a nice day. I don't see us fighting customers off any time soon, so let's call it a half day."

"Really?" Tiff seemed stunned, this was a new one.

"There's plenty to be done in the garden mind." Appleby casually said, Tiffany suddenly realising the half day was too good to be true.

"I don't know..." She replied. "I'm not much of a gardener. Besides which, what if we get a delivery?"

"Ah, the hell with that." Mrs Appleby gestured, waving Tiffany's concerns away. "They'll come up to the house if it's that important."

Slowly turning and making her way to the front entrance of the store, Mrs Appleby flipped the sign in the window, the little card hanging by a piece of string now reading 'Closed' as the old woman cast her eyes upon the empty car park, the streets of Mount Carroll more desserted than usual as time seemed to stop. Taking a look at the sun, beaming in from the heavens and casting a shadow across the quaint little town, the wrinkled face of Mrs Appleby screwed itself into an anxious smile as she turned and looked at Tiffany. Removing the cash drawer from the register Tiffany carried it to the office, the safe hanging open in the corner of the small room, awaiting the daily takings which seemed to be getting less and less over each and every month. A few seconds later, as Tiffany emerged from the office, Mrs Appleby twisted the key in the door, the metal lock scraping into the old, rusty chamber as the premises became secure.

"Get some old clothes and a good pair of gloves." Mrs Appleby said, clapping her hands together and rubbing them with enthusiasm, her smile widening as Tiffany turned to her with a look of concern.

"You're gonna need 'em."

Taking a well earned break, Tiffany stood by the kitchen sink, the glass of water disappearing faster than the clunking, groaning, plumbing of Mrs Appleby's house could deliver it. Over the last three hours she figured she must have muttered every curse word known to man, even throwing in a few new ones, as she climbed trees, pruned branches and waded waist high through rose bushes, thorn after thorn piercing her skin and digging into the denim of her dungarees as Mrs Appleby, sat hollering orders, 'Hideous Old Cow' mode now fully engaged as Tiffany showed great restraint, fighting the urge to respond with her own verbal abuse.

"Not that much you stupid girl!" Appleby had yelled from the safety of her chair, drink in hand, relaxing on the patio as Tiffany hacked away at the rose bush, blood beginning to flow from her finger tips as the gloves fell to pieces in no time at all.

"You're doing that all wrong." She'd screamed across the vast lawn as Tiffany practically dangled from the branches of an oak tree, one foot on the step ladder, the other hanging free, spare hand gripping the branch as she worked up a sweat. Sawing through the thick, wooden digit as it extended across the lawn, she had only realised her beginner's mistake at the last minute, crashing to the ground as the branch gave a loud creak and snapped from the tree.

"What did I tell you?" Appleby screamed from her deck chair, leaning forward, face screwed up in annoyance. "Idiot!"

"I nearly killed myself you stupid old bat!" Tiffany had instantly hollered back, standing in a daze and swivelling in the old woman's direction, ribs aching from the fall. Appleby's eyes had widened in shock as the words landed on her ears.

"No stamina you youngsters." She replied as Tiffany bent to the ground and retrieved the saw from besides the now severed branch.

"Screw this." Tiffany muttered beginning to walk towards the old woman. Reaching the patio she threw the saw at Mrs Appleby's feet, continuing to walk on past as the serated blade landed inches from her wrinkled stockings, her short legs dangling over the edge of the chair.

"Where the hell are you going?" Mrs Appleby had yelled after her, Tiffany already halfway through the open door and into the kitchen, remaining silent as she yanked open the cupboard door and grabbed a glass. Standing by the kitchen sink, twisting the tap and allowing the water to flow, Tiffany had taken a deep breath before lifting the glass to her lips and taking a drink. A sip turn into a gulp, which eventually led to her downing the cooling fluid in seconds, her thirst only barely quenched as she placed the glass back under the tap and twisted again. As she stood and waited, her eyes began to wander, as they always did, across the spacious kitchen area, taking in the surroundings she had become so familiar with over the past twelve months. As the glass filled with water, she shut the tap off and felt a comfort come across her. A warm, cosy feeling as she let her eyes wander, not a thing out of place. Not a thing, except... In the corner of the kitchen, hidden in the shadows as the sunlight filtered through the windows, there was something amiss, Tiffany's eyes falling on the heavy trunk. The padlock was still firmly attached to the clasp, locked tight no doubt about that, but once more, as had happened many months ago, Tiffany noticed something protruding from within. Sticking from beneath the lid was something unusual, the tapestry of colours catching Tiffany's attention as she downed her water and took a look back to the door. Still alone, she placed her glass on the kitchen worktop and quickly walked over to the heavy looking trunk, dropping to her knees and grabbing the material that had interested her so much. A fabric, soft to the touch, but tattered and dusty. The dirt, ground in, gave it an aged look as Tiffany remembered a similar incident to the one she was experiencing now. Denim, rougher on the hands, but in a similar condition and appearance had been spotted in the same manner just under a year ago, protruding from within as though caught in the midst of an escape. This material wasn't denim though, it was finer. All blues, reds, greens and whites as Tiffany examined it carefully. She had seen this somewhere before, she was sure of it. Taking another look behind her, Tiffany pulled, the material moving slightly before becoming stuck once more. Trying again, it was no good, Tiffany judging it to be either stuck on something or part of something much bigger altogether. Suddenly, she recoiled in shock, jumping to her feet as Mrs Appleby's voice screeched through the air.

"Tiffany!" Her tone had an air of urgency about it, voice cutting through the wall of the house as Tiffany turned and raced to the door. As she reached the patio, she felt relief, panic over temporarily as Mrs Appleby stood on her tip toes, staring down the side of the house. Arm raised, the flat of her hand shielding her eyes from the blaring rays of the sun, Mrs Appleby surveyed the view, eyes cast over Mount Carroll as Tiffany came to a stop by her side. Looking out over the sleepy town, still and quiet, Tiffany struggled to see what all the fuss was about, turning to Mrs Appleby and following her gaze towards the store down below, the silver Mercedes slowly pulling up in the parking lot.

"Who's that?" Tiffany asked, curiosity coarsing through her veins.

"Nobody I know." Appleby replied as she watched on. "Doesn't look like the normal kind of customer that's for sure. Get down there and find out what he wants."

Setting off, tearing down the side of the house and leaving Mrs Appleby in her dust, Tiffany reached the top of the stone steps leading down towards the store and began her descent.

"Wait for me God dammit!" Mrs Appleby screamed, beginning to move, faster than she had in years as her legs frantically laboured after Tiffany, her much younger acquaintance creating a substantial gap by now.

Reaching the bottom of the steps and hitting the dirt at full pelt, Tiffany raced to the parking lot, the Mercedes sitting empty as she rounded the corner of Appleby's Store and came to a standstill, head shooting left, then right as she searched for the driver. Finding nobody, Tiffany leapt up the handful of wooden steps leading to the entrance of the store and prowled the wooden veranda, cupping her hands over her eyes and pressing her face against the window of the establishment, the interior completely clear of movement as she pulled her face away from the glass and slowly turned back towards the dusty parking lot.

"Hey." The man greeted her from below, Tiffany jumping a mile as the surprise hit her full on, hands flying to her heart. Tall, his face wrinkling as his smile grew and with a head of greying hair, the man held his hands, briefcase and all, up in a peaceful gesture and gave her a friendly smile.

"Woah, woah..." He almost whispered as he waited for her to calm down and catch her breath.

"Jesus Christ." Tiffany smiled, almost laughing as she felt her heart banging in her chest.

"Sorry." The man apologised, his eyes working their way over her. The clothes were ripped to pieces, her hair scruffily tied up by a bandana, but her figure was exquisite, his eyes drinking in every curve, especially her breasts, raising with each breath and pressing against the thin material of her t-shirt, the denim of her dungarees sitting slightly below and serving only to lift her bust. "Didn't mean to scare you miss."

"It's okay..." Tiffany replied as she began to descend the wooden steps, brushing her hair from her face as she took another long look at her visitor, guessing his age to be late forties to early fifties as he flashed her a grin. "Can I help?"

"Well I certainly hope so..." The man beamed, pausing and turning his head as a figure hurried round the corner of Appleby's Store, Mrs Appleby herself, out of breath as she came to a stop besides Tiffany and bent double, the old woman severely lacking breath as Tiffany grabbed her shoulder and rubbed her back.

"Give me a second." Tiffany turned her attention to the old girl, helping her stand upright as she waved Tiffany away, her breath slowly returning, as was the colour in her cheeks.

"Damn near broke my neck." Mrs Appleby gasped, her lungs expanding under pressure as she took deep breaths.

"Sorry about that." Tiffany turned to their guest and smiled, hands placed firmly on Mrs Appleby's frail shoulders. "This is Mrs Appleby. This is her place."

"Mrs Appleby." The man reached out, his hand meeting Mrs Appleby's as he slowly and gently began to shake in a display of friendship. "Please to meet you. The name's Jack Fuller."

"Spare the formalities." She spat, breathing almost back to normal as she wiped the corners of her mouth along her sleeve, long greasy hair hanging either side of her weathered face. "What do you want?"

"With you?" Jack laughed. "Nothing."

"I don't understand." Mrs Appleby said, confused.

"If you'd both let me explain." He continued. "I'm looking for a Miss Valentine? Tiffany Valentine?"

Face turning solemn, Tiffany's eyes fixed on Jack as she spoke, stunned.

"That's me." She answered, accepting Jack's hand and allowing him to shake.

"Wow." Jack gushed, shaking her hand vigorously. "It's a pleasure. It really is."

"I don't understand." Tiffany asked, completely at a loss.

"What's all this about?" Mrs Appleby asked, interrupting and breaking the tension as Jack turned from one to the other.

"Miss Valentine, I'd like just a few moments of your time. I have a few questions, if you'd be willing to help me out I'd be extremely grateful."

"He's a reporter!" Mrs Appleby snarled, raising a bony finger and casting it in his direction.

"Fuck." Tiffany spat, turning and beginning to march from the scene, a deflated feeling sinking in.

"No." Jack stammered, beginning to fish through his pockets, pulling free a wallet, flipping it open and flashing a form of identification in the direction of the two women.

"You're a cop?" Appleby's eyes narrowed as she adjusted her glasses and squinted, trying to make out the details on the I.D. Hearing this, Tiffany felt her blood run cold stopping on the spot and turning back towards Jack.

"No." He stammered again. "Not a cop. Not anymore at least. Private Investigator."

"What do you want with me?" Tiffany asked sternly, catching a glimpse of the wallet as Jack slipped it back into his trouser pocket.

"Miss Valentine I have questions. I was hoping you could answer some for me, shed a bit of light on things." He answered honestly. "See I've been following this case for some years now."

"Questions about what?" Tiffany felt intrigued, Jack taking a deep breath as a silence came over the trio. "What case?"

"Charles Lee Ray." Jack calmly replied, his eyes monitoring Tiffany for a reaction, finding nothing but shock

Feeling every nerve in her body suddenly become numb, Tiffany's mind raced. Memories, pictures, dates and times all came flooding back as her time with Chucky danced agonizingly across her eyes. The pain, the joy, each and every second igniting with a wondrous high and a corresponding low. Composing herself and drawing the first breath in what seemed like forever, Tiffany stepped forward and climbed the steps to Appleby's Store, pulling the key from her pocket and sliding it into the lock. As the door swung open, Tiffany tuned to Jack, his eyes following her every move as he waited with baited breath.

"Mr Fuller." She softly spoke. "You'd better come with me."

Without saying another word Jack took a step towards the steps and climbed, following Tiffany into the store. Weaving their way through the aisles of the small store, they eventually reached the office, Tiffany placing a hand on the door handle as she stopped and turned to Jack, quietly speaking as tears formed in her eyes.

"I'll answer whatever questions." She whispered, her voice trembling. "But I want some answers of my own."

Simply nodding, Jack watched as Tiffany opened the door and beckoned him in, proceeding to follow in a heartbeat as the door closed behind him. Standing alone in the doorway of the store, Mrs Appleby simply watched on as the couple disappeared into the office, her mind racing as she allowed a smile to cross her dry, scabby lips. Taking a deep breath and subconsciously thanking the Lord, the little old woman's mind began to work overtime as she felt the time finally upon her, the last year suddenly arriving at this, the critical moment of her little plan. Turning and beginning her arduous journey back to the house, Mrs Appleby mumbled with pleasure under her breath as she walked and, more importantly, planned.

"It's about time." She smiled. "It's about fucking time."

Drawing the blinds of the office closed, peeking through the window and seeing the frail figure of Mrs Appleby begin to climb the mountain of stone steps before her, Tiffany turned to her guest. Pulling a chair from beneath Mrs Appleby's desk, Jack Fuller sat in one fluid motion, raising his briefcase before gently placing it upon the surface of the desk. Crossing the office floor, Tiffany yanked the soft leather seat out from under the desk and sat, fumbling in her pockets and fishing her cigarettes. Flicking the lid of the packet, she removed a solitary stick of tobacco and placed it between her lips, eyes never leaving the mysterious stranger now sat across from her. Before she could blink, a lighter was thrust towards her, held under her nose as the flame burned bright, Jack's extended arm solid as Tiffany hesitated, looking into his face and finding herself met with the smoothest of smiles, his weathered skin telling a story of a life well lived, the stubble adorning his chin giving the impression of a man that spent more time than he should at work.

"Thanks." Tiffany smirked as she sucked, the harshness hitting the back of her throat immediately, the nicotine entering her system and calming her as she allowed herself to sink back into the soft leather of the chair. Crossing her legs and feeling the rough, tattered denim of the dungarees, she watched as the smoke danced majestically from the tip of her cigarette, twirling through the air, illuminated magnificently by the dim light of the office, spiralling with a complete, unbridled freedom that excited, yet amazed, Tiffany. Placing his lighter on the desk and beginning to flick through various documents, Jack began to hum, the silence relieved as the pair sat opposite each other, the tension beginning to build as both wondered exactly how the scenario before them would play out. Jack wasn't stupid. He'd read Valentine's file and knew enough. Anybody even remotely connected to the man that was Charles Lee Ray had to have secrets, skeletons in the closet, although that wasn't exactly what he was here for. He needed answers. Hell not even answers, just information. In exchange he was willing to answer any questions headed his way. After all, why not? What harm could that possibly do? To think this had all started years ago, just another case. At first it had seemed preposterous. The very things his client had spoken of almost laughable as Jack sat and listened, shaking his head as he closed the door behind them and poured himself a scotch. A large one at that.

Now?

This was more than a case... The things he had seen, the things he had found... There was something in all this. He'd realised some time ago, a twinge of guilt as he remembered the way he had reacted in the beginning, mentally branding his client pathetic and insane, among other things. But now, here he sat, years of investigation finally culminating in this moment as he sat across from Tiffany Valentine, the infamous lover, the illusive accomplice, of the late Charles Lee Ray. If anybody could shed light on the events of recent years then make no mistake, this was the person, Jack's eyes falling to his paperwork as he began to perspire, Tiffany's gaze never leaving him as she sat completely silent, the burning embers of her cigarette glowing red as she inhaled deeply before removing the cigarette from her thick, plump lips and exhaling a lung full of seductive smog.

"So..." Jack started, flicking through the pages of his notebooks. "Where to begin?"

"We could start with an explanation." Tiffany answered calmly.

"Explanation?" Jack asked, his head jerking upwards.

"Just what in the hell are you doing?" Tiffany asked.

"How do you mean?"

"Why are you digging all this shit up?" Her question had a playful ring to it, her lips moving seductively as she allowed another cloud of smoke to float free, a long curl of hair slowly winding around her finger. "What's the point?"

"You don't seem thrilled with my research." Jack noticed.

"Probably because it's not entirely appreciated." Tiffany leaned forward, stubbing the cigarette in the ashtray before leaning back and into the comfort of the chair once more. "Why are you doing this? Why now?"

"Because it's my job." Jack replied, staggered at the question.

"But you're not a cop... Not anymore apparently." Tiffany snapped, her eyes emitting a slowly burning anger as she gripped the arms of her seat and pushed herself into a standing position. Walking slowly across the floor of the office, she returned to the window and peeked through the blind, the darkness beginning to creep over Mount Carroll. "And I know you private investigator types don't do this for the good of your health."

"What are you getting at?" Jack could feel the tension building, the girl before him not one he had planned on antagonizing.

"Who are you working for?"

Silence...

"That's confidential." Jack answered, turning back to his notes fingers moving rapidly through page after page.

"Really?" Tiffany smiled. "Then so is everything I know."

"Look... Could we please..." Jack stammered, the situation growing beyond his comfort zone. "Could we just start again?"

Turning from the window and approaching the desk, Tiffany stopped. Placing her hands on her waist, she casually asked once again.

"Who are you working for?" She growled. "Who hired you?"

"I'm really not at liberty to divulge that information." Jack's tone ambled through the air, enriched with a calmness. "You know the person Mr Ray was. The last thing my client wants is retribution from either you or him."

"Say that again..."

"I'm sorry, what?" Jack's eyes narrowed.

"You'd have to be pretty highly strung to fear retribution from a man that's been dead for six years." Tiffany slumped to her seat.

"Well let me put it this way..." Jack continued. "My client would prefer to take no chances."

"Fair enough. If they want to believe those 'stories' then let them."

"How did you and Mr Ray become acquainted?" Jack asked, flipping the top from his pen and beginning to scribble in his notebook.

"What's that to do with anything?" Tiffany asked.

"Just helps build a bigger picture." Jack reached for the pack of open cigarettes, now sitting in the middle of the desk, grabbing one between his lips and sliding it from the box. "See for all we know there was a side to Mr Ray that the public never heard about. Sure they know about the murders, the rituals, the 'stories', as you put it, following his death..."

"He saved my life." Tiffany interrupted.

"Saved your life?" Jack was taken aback. "How?"

"It was late." She carried on, her eyes glassing over as she rolled back the years, her memory on autopilot. "I was walking home from work one night when I was attacked. The guy wanted my money... He was going to rape me... Then Chucky appeared out of nowhere."

"So that's how you met?" Jack squirmed in his seat, allowing a smile to Grace his lips. "It's funny you call him Chucky."

"In what way is that amusing to you Mr Fuller?"

"Because at the time of his death he had no aliases, no nicknames, no pseudonyms to speak of on his file." Jack flicked through the notes once more, the smoke hanging in the air, a haze around his greying hair as he sucked in the filter of the cigarette, eyes whipping from left to right across the pages before him. "Of course, the media had labelled him with this 'Lakeshore Strangler' thing. Probably helped sell a few more papers, but in the long run nothing else."

"Get to the point Mr Fuller." Tiffany sighed, her tone becoming lethargic.

"But then, merely days after his passing, a six year old boy claims his doll is possessed by the soul of Mr Ray." Jack shot forward, foster wrapped around his pen as he allowed a tiny bit of a spark to ignite.

"I remember..." Tiffany started, shot down instantly as Jack continued to pursue the same line of inquiry.

"Only he calls his doll Chucky... Do you not find it strange? That a six year old boy would suddenly know that? Not only that, but also certain aspects of Mr Ray's life?"

"I think you're reading a lot into this." Tiffany laughed. "Kids will say anything their mothers tell them."

"Like the address of one Eddie Caputo?" Jack asked. "How do you explain that? The child in question, Andy Barclay, was present when Caputo was incinerated."

"Really?" A smirk crossed Tiffany's lips. "And I suppose you're going to tell me that my dead boyfriend was behind that too?"

"His mother, Karen Barclay seemed to think so."

"The last time I checked, the name Karen Barclay wasn't regarded as the most reliable when it came to this sort of thing." The smirk grew effortlessly into a fill on grin, as though there was a humorous side to the conversation now taking place. "You know... Credible testimonies and all..."

"Let me see..." Jack skimmed through the pages again. "She was something of an enigma by the looks of this. The stories she told them were outlandish, sure. But Karen Barclay passed every psychiatric evaluation with flying colours."

"What can I say?" Tiffany leaned forward. "Some people are crazy, some people are just smart."

"What does that mean?" Jack asked.

"That woman, and her kid, were splashed across every front page in Chicago. If she was looking for attention, then she got it."

"She lost her son." Jack snapped, astonished.

"Sacrificed him more like." Tiffany corrected him. "Let me ask you this... If even half the shit she mentioned actually happened, then what would you do?"

"I'm not sure I follow." Jack shook his head and lay back in his chair.

"Would you expect people to believe you?" Tiffany held her hands up in disbelief, palms upwards, arms outstretched. "Or would you destroy the 'remains', if there ever were any, and then get on with your life?"

"That's an interesting point of view." Jack exhaled, a deep, long lung full of smoke ejected from his lungs as he tossed his cigarette into the ashtray.

"It's the only point of view as far as I'm concerned Mr Fuller." Tiffany spat, an anger beginning to re-emerge. "I found it incredibly disrespectful that my Chucky's name was dragged through the mud like it was."

"Are we on about the same guy here?" Jack returned to his notes, holding a solitary piece of paper up before his eyes and reading. "Wanted for approximately thirteen murders? Victims killed in the same manner? Strangulation, knife wounds..."

"You paint him to be some kind of demon." Tiffany calmly interrupted.

"He needs no help on that score Miss Valentine." Jack immediately answered. "Listen... I think we've started off on the wrong foot. Now you said you have questions, as do I. All I'm proposing here is a little bit of give and take."

"I scratch your back, you scratch mine..."

"Something like that, yes." Jack smiled. "I don't necessarily need answers. Just information. Kind of a 'fill in the blanks', if you will. You on the other hand seem to have some questions. Throw them my way, maybe we can reach a friendly compromise."

"What do you want to know?" Beginning to massage her temples, Tiffany sat back and closed her eyes. "Because believe it or not Mr Fuller, I've moved on. I'm in a better place these days."

"So I can see." Jack answered, reaching for the briefcase, sat open on the surface of the desk, and retrieving a manila file. Opening the manila folder, he read calmly, the name 'Valentine, Tiffany' scrawled across the header. "Attempted murder? Downgraded to self defence..."

Looking up as he spoke, Jack found the ice cold eyes of Tiffany Valentine burning into his skull, piercing whatever mental armour he had erected and sending a child down his spine.

"I don't mean that the wrong way." He instantly backed up. "You do seem friendlier than most people."

"How do you mean?"

"Very first place I went on this little investigation led me to a cult."

"A cult?" Tiffany seemed surprised.

"It wasn't very well organised." He elaborated. "More of a gathering than anything. You ever hear of Forest Hills Cemetery?"

"That's where he's buried." Tiffany's voice had a vacancy about it as she cast her mind back to the winter of 1988.

"Indeed it is." Jack nodded. "There were reports of a disturbance up there a couple years back. Somebody, maybe this 'cult', even attempted to exhumed the corpse of Charles Lee Ray."

"Jesus."

"I know." A shake of the head from Jack. "Like I said though, they weren't very well organised. They dug half way down and pretty much gave up."

"That's terrible."

"There have been other disturbances too." Jack recalled as he folded his arms across his chest. "The caretaker, Ted I think he was called, mentioned groups visiting the grave, séances, chanting. People were actually taking dolls up there and trying to resurrect the guy."

"Listen." Tiffany cut in. "I'm sure there's a point to you telling me all this. But what exactly do you need to know?"

"I just want to know about the man." Jack answered honestly. "To be honest this isn't really about my client anymore. They seem satisfied that there's no truth, no substance to these 'killer doll' stories."

"But you're not so sure?" Tiffany asked.

"Let's just say I've seen and heard things that can't be ignored. That there are too many 'coincidences' along the way."

"Like...?"

"We'll get to that." Jack held a hand up, his palm seeming to shush her. "Did Mr Ray ever mention any such knowledge? Voodoo, that kind of thing?"

"Not especially." Tiffany thought to herself. "Although he moved in some pretty strange circles."

"In what way?"Jack asked.

"He had one leg shorter than the other... How do you think I fucking mean?" Tiffany spat.

"He kept company you weren't keen on?"

"Eddie Caputo was an abortion that never came to fruition and John Bishop ticked all the wrong boxes for me." Her tone achieving a level of smugness she had been previously unaware of, Tiffany watched as a smile developed on Jack's face.

"How come?" He asked.

"Everything about him was creepy. From his apartment, right down to the clothes he wore." Tiffany explained. "Chucky spent a lot of time with him. My guess, it was him that put all this voodoo bullshit in his head."

"So this was a friend of Chucky's you didn't get along with? What makes you think he was the catalyst for this 'voodoo bullshit'?"

"I visited Chucky's place." She continued, recalling the events of years past. "Not long after he died. I needed answers so I caught a taxi over there right after I called in on John Bishop. Let's say the decor left little to the imagination. John Bishop had a hand in this."

"So you visited John Bishop?" Jack seemed surprised, pen scratching its way across the surface of the paper, the scribbling noise cutting through the air.

"Yes."

"And what happened there?" Jack asked, pushing, pulling, trying to get his bigger picture.

"He threw me out." She laughed. "Told me exactly what he thought of me."

"Which was..."

"He wasn't keen, let's leave it at that."

"So then you visited Mr Ray's place?" Jack asked, eyes whizzing left to right, the plethora of notes before him becoming jumbled. "What were you looking for?"

"Answers..." Tiffany honestly replied.

"Answers?" Jack asked.

"The news had reported a woman..." Tiffany started, not getting chance to finish as Jack carried on the sentence for her.

"... In the basement?"

"Yes." A look of unease crossed Tiffany's face. "How do you know that?"

"It's nothing new to me." Jack said, pulling yet another file from his briefcase and holding it in his hands, thumbing through the pages. "The woman's name was Sarah Pirce. Eight months pregnant at the time. Knife wound to the stomach causing complications for the baby. Delivered that night, but with difficulties."

"I don't want to hear this." Tiffany felt an unease as she squirmed in her seat, sitting on her hands as she cast her eyes to the window. She hadn't sat on her hands in years, a sure sign in her childhood of either a guilty conscience or an uneasy feeling.

"It's not pleasant, I know. But the baby lived. Only the girl was born without the use of her legs." Jack continued reading, lifting his eyes and offering Tiffany a small smile as he pressed on. "Other than that, she's now approximately five years old and lives a pretty full life."

"And what about the woman?" Tiffany asked.

"She survived. Although an experience like that has..." Jack paused. "Repercussions."

"I was more interested in what the hell she was doing there. Why was she in my boyfriend's basement?" Tiffany's voice had no life, her tone falling flat as she spoke, Sarah Pirce's wellbeing obviously not a priority.

"Believe me when I tell you it wasn't her decision." Jack answered, reading on. "According to her statement, she was taken there under the influence of narcotics. When she awoke, Mr Ray had her restrained. She remained there for several weeks."

"But why?" Tiffany seemed puzzled. Here was her chance after all these years. Answers at her finger tips.

"She met Ray that summer. At a barbeque held by a mutual friend." Jack's eyes remained fixed on the paper in his hand, eyes ripping through the statement. "Shortly after that her husband Daniel drowned, assumed an accident. According to Ray, he killed him. Cleared a path before making his move on Mrs Pirce. She wasn't interested, which led to Mr Ray taking rather extreme actions."

"So he kidnapped her?" Tiffany gasped, dumbfounded.

"He was obsessed by the sounds of things." Jack tried to reason. "Kept on about wanting a family. One day while he was out, Pirce managed to alert the authorities. Ray made a run for it, later that night he was gunned down by Mike Norris."

"He was with me the night before he died." Tiffany recollected. "He left in the middle of the night. I was asleep. That was the last I ever saw of him."

"What about before then?" Jack asked. "How long were you together?"

Rolling her eyes and beginning to think, Tiffany took a deep breath and began to mumble to herself.

"A little over six years." She answered, her reply lacking the hostility of the past half an hour.

"And did you know?" Jack pushed her, asking as he raised his eyebrows.

"Did I know?" Tiffany repeated the question, seemingly confused.

"About how Mr Ray chose to pass the time... The murders..." Jack elaborated.

"Yes." Tiffany answered quietly.

"Yet you did nothing about it?" Jack continued scribbling.

"That's not what you do when you love somebody Mr Fuller." Tiffany's eyes fell to the notepad, attempting to read Jack's scrawl. It would have been a hard enough task the right way up, such was the quality of the handwriting. From across the desk it was nigh on impossible.

"Have you ever murdered anybody Tiffany?" Jack dropped the pen and rubbed his eyes, sinking back into the seat.

"I don't get what that has to do with anything." Tiffany replied, dodging the question.

"It's a simple enough question." Jack stroked his chin. "Have you, Tiffany Valentine, ever murdered somebody?"

A quietness once more draped itself across the office as the tension built, the atmosphere becoming increasingly awkward with every second of absolute silence as Tiffany's eyes remained locked on her guest, unblinking, her chest moving rhythmically as her deep breaths controlled the rampaging heartbeat that lurked beneath. Suddenly her lips parted, a brief pause, a split second of hesitation as she gathered her thoughts, composed herself.

"Tell me Mr Fuller, may I call you Jack?" Tiffany asked, Jack nodding positively. "Then tell me Jack... Have 'you' ever killed anybody?"

"This isn't about me." His reply was calm, his demeanour anything but as he gulped and took a deep breath.

"Ah, but this wasn't about me either. Yet here we are..." Tiffany smiled, leaning forward, elbows now resting on the desk as she cradled her chin in the palm of her hand. "So tell me. Have you ever killed somebody? Anybody?"

Without saying a word, Jack's eyes fell, his head shaking as beads of perspiration began to appear upon his brow.

"Well let me tell you." Tiffany continued. "It's a feeling like nothing else. Exhilaration is one way of describing it. You feel a surge of power, almost sexual, like an orgasm. I take it you've had one of those?"

Jack's head shot up, alarmed at the look of excitement now greeting him as Tiffany carried on, her playful tone chiming in stereo as her voice, sexy and full of energy, caused his head to spin.

"Chucky was the only one that understood that with me." She carried on. "The thrill I mean. Always the same. Your heart beats, your senses heighten, you feel a charge of static ripple through your body, always the same. Whether it's a knife slicing through the flesh of a homeless man, or a wire cutting off the air supply to a persons lungs you feel it. It ignites and it takes over, like a drug, almost addictive..."

"Okay..." Jack burst forward, his hands up. "I get the picture."

"I would hope so Mr Fuller." Tiffany coyly sat back and crossed her legs, pulling a cigarette free and placing it in between her lips, lighting it and drawing a lung full of the acrid fumes. "Because I'm through with your questions. Now it's my turn."

A brief pause as she exhaled a plume of smoke in Jack's direction.

"I want my fucking answers!"

Jack felt his heart racing, the room beginning to spin as the beautiful, at first approachable, young woman before him smoked her cigarette and smiled, an evil lurking beyond the facade of kindness as Tiffany finished her sentence.

"I don't think I know anything you don't already..." Jack began, Tiffany instantly speaking over him. Make no mistake now, she controlled this conversation.

"You said you believed these 'stories'." She interjected. "That you'd 'seen' things. That they couldn't just be coincidences. Start there!"

Composing himself and clearing his throat, Jack started to talk, Tiffany listening as he stuttered and stammered his way through the chain of events starting November 1988. From first contact with his mystery client, Jack began to paint his own picture as Tiffany remained silent. Sure enough, the events surrounding her separation from her beloved Chucky, almost six years previous, now began to flesh out, the story told from a slightly different angle now adding fresh light on a long muddied subject. As Jack described certain, long forgotten, aspects of the once infamous 'Killer Doll' case Tiffany found herself asking question after question, the more she asked, the more Jack explained as he answered in vivid detail. The death of John Bishop was news to her as she found herself reminiscing about their brief conversation following Chucky's death. Karen Barclay's testimony made for interesting listening too, as Jack read from files and notes. The burning, shooting and dismembering of a supposedly possessed killer doll never likely to fall on anything but deaf ears as the rantings leapt from various, crumpled pages. Things began to get interesting as Jack started to delve into the year of 1990. The Barclay case thrown out, Play Pals Toys requesting the evidence, the doll, so as to carry out their own internal investigation, remove any bad publicity from the shoulders of the once untouchable brand that was Play Pals, redeem their already crumbling stock prices and declare their product blame free and fit for retail once more. Harry Marsh was also mentioned, although only very briefly, the missing evidence from the case appearing in the back of his squad car, Marsh himself murdered, repeatedly knifed in the throat, Jack going into great detail, enthusiasm growing as Tiffany became absorbed in the sadistic chain of events. Gabriella and Johnny were left out, Tiffany breathing a small sigh of relief. Until the name Max Mattson was mentioned at least.

"I remember that." Tiffany spoke softly as she stubbed her cigarette in the ashtray, Jack stopping in his tracks as his story was interrupted.

"You do?" Jack asked taking a brief respite.

"It was all over the news. In the department store right before I was arrested." Tiffany's eyes stared vacantly ahead as she spoke.

"I remember it too." Jack nodded. "I didn't know it at the time but that's when things started to get really strange. "

"How?" Tiffany asked, curiosity climbing again.

"Well remember the coincidences I mentioned earlier?" Jack asked, Tiffany nodding intently, listening as Jack continued. "They all came about, in one way or another, from the Mattson murder."

"Go on..." Tiffany urged him to carry on, things picking up the pace as the story developed.

"Well here's the thing..." Jack coughed again, clearing his throat as he began. " I've seen everything there is to see about this whole thing, from the day Charles Lee Ray died, right up to this very moment. Now Max Mattson worked for none other than Play Pals Toys, you follow?"

"Yes..." Tiffany nodded.

"Just a day or so earlier they'd received the evidence from the original case. To carry out their investigations." He shrugged his shoulders as he spoke. "According to staff at the factory, they cleaned the doll up. Only some machinery went haywire, fried one of the technicians and one of the board members flipped. Told Mattson to do whatever he had to with the doll, he wasn't particularly bothered so long as it was out of his sight."

"Okay, I see." Tiffany's ears pricked up.

"Last thing anybody saw of Max Mattson he was heading through the rain to his car. Even have a statement from one of the truck drivers, gave him a blast of his horn as he drove past. Said he saw Mattson carrying a Good Guy... 'The' Good Guy from 1988, refurbished." Drawing a deep breath and relaxing in his chair, Jack gave a sly smirk and addressed Tiffany. "So we have Max Mattson, headed to his car with the doll. Less than an hour later and he ends up dead? Not just dead either but murdered in a similar, brutal fashion used so often by your late boyfriend? Come on!"

"You know that could just have been a coincidence Jack." Tiffany

"Yes, I guess it could." Jack apparently reasoned, his smile growing as he spoke. "But to find the car, the body, in a parking lot just two blocks from Andy Barclay's new foster home?"

"You're kidding." Tiffany seemed concerned, her face wrinkling in disbelief.

"Also, Max Mattson's car phone was checked." Jack's voice rose in volume, his exuberance growing with every word. "Last number dialled was half an hour before the time of death. Who do you suppose Mattson called?"

"Enlighten me." Tiffany leaned back, the soft leather offering her sanctuary as she recalled the phone conversation between Mattson and Gabriella Cortez.

"Midtown Children's Crisis Centre. Grace Pool, to be exact." Jack continued. "Records show the phone call in black and white. A phone call enquiring as to the location of one Andy Barclay."

"And did this mystery caller not give any clues as to his identity?" Tiffany asked, breathing a sigh of relief. Jack's eyes ignited as he slammed his fist on the desk, Tiffany jumping in her seat as Jack carried on his theory.

"Somebody claiming to be his God damn uncle Charles!" He more or less screamed in delight, a little laughter rising to the surface. "That's not a coincidence, that's the soul of Charles Lee Ray, reanimated and with a fucking grudge to bare!"

"Well done Mr Fuller." Tiffany laughed, seeming to get the same satisfaction as Jack finished. "Is that it? Is this where the story ends?"

"We're only just getting started." Jack grabbed a notepad, flicking through the pages as his eyes feverishly devoured every word, eventually settling on one as his eyes widened in excitement. "This right here."

Pushing the pad along the desk, rotating it and sliding it to a stop, Jack looked at Tiffany, his eyes urging her to sit forward and read. Taking the subliminal invitation, Tiffany proceeded to sit forward and allow her eyes to work over the page before her. As she read, she began to slowly shake her head, confused as she pressed on.

"What the hell is this?" She queried, the words sitting beneath her nose barely legible.

"That's exactly what Andy Barclay told the authorities." Jack grinned. "Word for fucking word. See the first thing he discovered when he arrived at Phil and Joanne Simpson's house was a Good Guy. Obviously with there being something of a history, alarm bells started ringing, only this one was called Tommy."

"Woah, hold up a second." Tiffany held her hand up, the other hand pushing the notepad back across the desk. "Who the hell are Phil and Joanne Simpson?"

"The foster parents."

"Right." Tiffany rolled her eyes. "This is a lot of information."

"Trust me, it all makes sense." Jack answered. "You just have to open your mind a little."

"So they had one of those dolls... Big deal." Tiffany shrugged her shoulders.

"Yeah, big deal. The Good Guy was a popular toy. Nearly every house had one." Jack reasoned. "But according to Andy Barclay, the next day this one struggled to remember its name. Cue a handful of murders over the next few days and let's just say things began to make sense."

"Murders?" Tiffany seemed surprised, the ensuing story capturing her attention.

"First up, Barclay's teacher." Jack continued. "Beaten to death in her classroom. Janitor found her, bloodied yardstick judged to be the murder weapon. Coroner said she was struck with such force, her skull was fractured in three places, that there wasn't an inch of skin left unbroken. Now Andy Barclay clearly states that the doll showed up at school."

"Okay." Tiffany listened, piping up as Jack took a breath. "But aren't you looking for similarities? I never knew Chucky use a yardstick for anything."

"I see your point." Jack reasoned. "But you'd have to imagine he was more or less cornered in that classroom. Willing to use his initiative, whatever he could. Knowing what I do now, he probably took pleasure in using that yardstick."

"Probably." Tiffany raised her eyebrows, placing another cigarette between her lips and offering the open pack to Jack, his hand fishing one from within as Tiffany struck her lighter and offered the flame, Jack accepting in greater comfort than he had done an hour earlier. "But you're talking as though this is actually what happened. Do you realise how farfetched it is?"

"Do you believe in God Miss Valentine?" Jack asked, the abruptness cutting the air.

"Not really." She answered calmly.

"Neither do I. Yet billions of people have no problem believing in a virgin birth. In the rising of a dead man, three days following a public death by crucifixion. A talking snake, a worldwide flood, the list goes on, so tell me what exactly makes this theory of mine so outlandish."

"I see your point." Tiffany answers flatly.

"All I'm doing is basing my theories on the facts at hand." Jack took a drag from the cigarette between his fingers. "Let's move on shall we?"

"I'm listening." Tiffany answered, taking a deep hit of pure, coarse nicotine as Jack continued.

"Same day, that night in fact. Both Foster parents get taken out. According to Andy Barclay he was down in the cellar. He and Chucky fought, the noise alerted the foster parents who came to investigate." Another pause as Jack inhaled a lung full of smoke. "Phil Simpson was halfway down the cellar steps when Chucky struck. Barclay said the doll revealed itself, that the colour drained from Simpson's face right before he died."

"And how did he die exactly?" Tiffany asked.

"Broken neck. Died on impact." Jack explained. "Caused by the doll obviously."

"Obviously." Tiffany sucked on her cigarette. "Are there any other witnesses to these events, or are we just taking the child's story for gospel?"

"Funnily enough, that same night, Andy Barclay went back into care. That left the foster mother and an older foster sister." Jack screwed up his eyes and read from the notes. "Kyle, her name was. There's a surname in here somewhere, but it's not important right now."

"So this 'Kyle' saw something?" Tiffany asked.

"The events so far? No." Jack held his hands flat on the table as he allowed his eyes to work over Tiffany's body, climbing steadily from her barely visible hips and crossing her chest, eventually focusing on her face, full of expectation as she waited for him to add to his findings. "However... Whilst outside, having a cigarette, she came across the broken remains of the original Good Guy from earlier. You remember that?"

"Tony?" Tiffany tilted her head, the name escaping her for a second.

"Tommy." Jack smiled awkwardly and nodded. "There he was, buried right beneath the swing. I tried to examine the doll years ago, but there was no sign of it. The police simply wrote it off as a lost item, thought nothing more of it."

"So what did this 'Kyle' do after she found Tommy?" Tiffany asked.

"Needless to say, she was freaked. Naturally she went to check on the doll she just threw in the trash, you know... The one that little Andy Barclay was claiming killed the foster father."

"Let me guess." Tiffany removed the cigarette from her lips, her smile growing as her pupils dilated and her eyes grew white with wonder. "The doll was gone?"

"Upstairs, already taking care of the foster mother." Phil nodded with a grin. "Took Kyle prisoner and basically held her at knife point, telling her to deliver him to Andy, but he's halfway across town, back at the Crisis Centre."

"So what happened then?"

"She drives him there, he takes care of Andy's social worker and there's a pursuit." Jack explained.

"A pursuit?" Tiffany asked. "What kind of pursuit. I've got to say Jack, this sounds very 'glamorous' and 'Hollywood' for Chucky."

"Kyle chases them in the car, catches up but they get past her. Next thing either her or Andy Barclay know, they're actually at Play Pals... In the factory with Chucky holding Andy prisoner."

"But why?" Tiffany asked.

"Both statements say something about him needing the Barclay boy to be able to transfer his soul from inside the doll." Jack carried on. "But according to the boy, he'd ran out of time and it didn't work. Chucky flipped and set out to kill the both of them, hunting hem down, chasing them through the factory. Along the assembly line, through the factory floor, wherever they turned he was one step ahead."

"He always got what he wanted." Tiffany whispered, laughing nervously as she doused yet another cigarette in the now overspilling ashtray, Jack joining her as he did the same. "Persistent fucker, I'll give him that."

"Sounds like he was." Jack turned the page of the notepad, squinting as he struggled to read, the time beginning to get late. "Says here that he cut off his own legs to escape some kind of automated machinery, then was basically melted after they drained a vat of molten plastic over him."

"Jesus Christ." Tiffany's face took on an uncomfortable appearance as she whispered to herself.

"Even then he never gave up." Jack flipped the page again. "It took a compressed air hose to finish the job, decapitating him where he stood."

"You sound like you believe every word." Tiffany turned back to Jack, laughing, her curiosity peaking as she spoke. "This all happened at the Play Pals factory? On the edge of town?"

Jack nodded.

"That factory was shut down and sealed off the day after. Orders from up top." He proceeded to elaborate. "Production on Good Guys stopped instantly and hundreds of workers laid off just like that. Huge cover up. Didn't work though... Word got out, pictures leaked, news spread quickly. The bottom fell out of company and they were forced to sell off all their assets. All assets but that one factory. There's a security presence like nothing I've ever seen before."

"Really?" Tiffany asked, eyes flitting left to right as the cogs deep within her head started to turn.

"That place is locked down... Tight... It took me a couple of attempts to get in, but..."

"You've been inside?" Tiffany interrupted, Jack stopping and giving her a silent nod of the head, before reeling in terror as Tiffany stood bolt upright.

"WHAT DID YOU SEE?" She screamed, her voice loud enough to wake the dead.

"Everything..." Jack stuttered. "Why do you think I'm so sure about this whole thing?"

"Tell me!" Tiffany snarled through gritted teeth, arms spread wide, hands gripping the sides of the desk as she leaned over, the two people now almost nose to nose.

"It was just like they said..." Jack began, pushing back into his chair. "Everything as they said. From the colours of the machinery, the assembly line, the trail of blood scraped across the floor, all the way to the melted Good Guy doll, just sat there. Where they left it... Headless... Bleeding..."

"What do you mean bleeding?" Tiffany snapped, a rage burning within her soul as Jack felt her eyes burn into his skull.

"I... I don't know..." He stuttered again. "It was weird. There was blood... Inside... Organs too... Like a person! It wasn't just missing its head either, it had a knife, taped to where a hand should've been..."

"What else?" Tiffany demanded, her body shaking as she spoke.

"NOTHING ELSE!" Jack hollered back, instantly regretting is decision as Tiffany shot him an unnerving look. "What I mean is, I didn't have time for anything else. Security was headed straight for me. I got out of there as quick as I could."

"So you're telling me you've seen all this?" Tiffany's eyes began to fill with tears, her voice breaking as her words became a whisper. "It's all true?"

Jack nodded violently as he took a deep breath and replied, his voice calm and controlled as he began to relax, Tiffany's presence beginning to feel less threatening as the tears rolled over her cheeks, her lip beginning to tremble.

"I believe it is." He continued nodding. "One hundred percent in my opinion. This is where this obsession started for me. To uncover the truth... I mean only a mad person would believe this shit right?"

Tiffany remained silent, slowly beginning to back off, stand upright as her mind raced, a mental juggernaut, flat out and no brakes as it suddenly faced a brick wall.

"My client is unaware of this." Jack continued, standing from his seat in a shot. "They know nothing and I'd prefer it be kept that way."

Suddenly, a fire erupted within Tiffany, her head violently spinning and facing Jack, an anger in her voice and a look of disgust on her face as she spat the words through clenched teeth and addressed him.

"Who the fuck is this 'client' of yours?"

"I can't say." Jack held the palms of his hands out, a gesture of peace as he replied. "All I can say is that they definitely wanted to be rid of Mr Ray... For good."

Without saying a word, Tiffany spun from the desk, pacing the office floor as she reached the window and fiddled with the blind once more. The light had all but disappeared from the beautiful afternoon, the sun gradually replaced with the moon hanging high and bright in the clear summer sky. Her mind bouncing, the fire replaced in her heart, she could think of nothing more to say. Nothing more to do as she spoke, softly, not bothering to turn her head and give her guest the slightest bit of respect.

"I think it's time you left."

Jack nodded, leaning across the desk and scooping up the various paperwork. Files, notepads, torn and twisted pieces of paper, all grabbed in a hurry and thrown into the briefcase as he slammed the lid closed and dragged it from the surface of the desk.

"Can I leave my card?" He gingerly asked, the question causing his host to swing on the spot, the clay ornament gracing the window of Mrs Appleby's office missing his head by a matter of inches as Tiffany screamed at full volume, her lungs fit to burst as her voice screeched through the air.

"GET OUT!"

Ducking slightly and grabbing the office door, Jack quickly made his way through the aisles of the store, the entrance still unlocked as he shot through, emerging onto the wooden veranda of the small establishment like a bullet leaving a gun. Leaping the steps completely as his ageing legs landed on the dirt of the parking lot with a crack, Jack sprinted to his car, sliding behind the driver's seat and firing up the engine in one fluid motion, throttle flat to the floor as the tyres kicked up a cloud of dust, the lights of the magnificent vehicle disappearing as quickly as they had arrived. Back in the office, Tiffany perched herself upon the corner of the desk and placed her head in her hands. The shock and confusion was almost overwhelming as she began to process everything Jack had told her. Every detail now mentally examine as she replayed what little of the conversation she could. Suddenly a revulsion came across her. A sickly feeling as she sat and thought about Jack's experience at the toy factory, the discovery of Chucky's body by a complete stranger bringing on a severe case of self loathing as she began to make plans for her immediate future.

And they didn't involve this place.


	20. Chapter 3-7(b)

Chapter 3.7 (Part Two - Mrs Appleby's Grand Plan)

Climbing the steps to Mrs Appleby's house, the last drops of sunlight steadily melting over the horizon, Tiffany gave her head a shake. With these recent revelations had come everything but what she had long expected. She felt no closure. No warmth and comfort in the answers provided. Instead, she could only feel her anxiety growing, the list of questions sitting at the back of her mind now rapidly expanding as she attempted to gather her thoughts and replay the last hour, the resulting conversation, over and over in her mind. Why did this have to happen now? She was moving on. Chucky well and truly in the past, the 'childish' stories and beliefs kicked to the kerb as the future seemed to open up and embrace Tiffany, offering a redemption she had never thought possible. Now, as she reached the final step and came to a breathless stop before the huge house, she couldn't even think straight. The past unceremoniously excavated and presented to her on a platter as Jack Fuller sat across the desk of Mrs Appleby's office and proceeded to enlighten her, the stories, the claims, every one of them so outlandish, yet riddled with immaculate detail that now prompted Tiffany to delve further. This was the reason she had to get away from Mount Carroll and return to the city.

Immediately.

Pushing open the heavy front door of the house, Tiffany entered the hall and began to slowly jog towards the staircase the voice of Mrs Appleby screeching from the parlour.

"Tiffany?" She seemed to question the noise from the front door.

"Just a minute!" Tiffany half turned and hollered back, reaching the staircase in no time at all and leaping two steps at a time, the thick carpet underfoot adding a feeling of warmth as her heart raced with every step. Approaching the upper hallway, Tiffany swung her body left and proceeded to surge along the hall, reaching her room in no time and throwing open the door, crossing the cluttered floor and pulling open the heavy doors of her wardrobe, the wall of clothes waiting within. Sinking to her knees, Tiffany thrust her hand into the darkness, feeling around, hands wandering, until she felt the familiar touch of leather. Withdrawing her arm, bag clenched in her fist, Tiffany threw it to the floor and shot to her feet, frantically ripping garment after garment from the hangers before her, rolling, folding, shoving and cramming as much as she could into the hold all now sat by her feet. T-shirts, dresses, skirts, jeans, heels, sneakers, you name it, Tiffany rammed it into the bag before turning to her dresser and yanking open the top drawer. Rifling through her underwear, she came across the knife come nail file that had once savagely sliced through the stomach of Evan Carter, cut the throat of Harry Marsh to ribbons, and tossed it into the bag, one last look around the room as she prepared to depart. Reaching back into the wardrobe, she retrieved the dusty, dormant leather jacket from its hanger and threw it across her back, arms gently sliding down the sleeves, before gently raising her hands and removing the bobble from her hair, flicking her long blonde locks over the collar of the jacket and allowing them to settle naturally, giving her head a slight shake. Suddenly bending and grabbing the handles of the now heavy bag, Tiffany tried to pull the zip closed, the contents fighting back as the bag bulged, Tiffany finally victorious as she lifted and threw the heavy hold all over her shoulder before bidding a final farewell to the room. Galloping along the corridor and reaching the staircase, Tiffany soon found herself on the ground floor again, hurriedly dropping her bag by the the front door as she grabbed the keys to Mrs Appleby's car, the pristine condition Plymouth Fury resting peacefully in the barn behind the store. Placing the keys in the pocket of her leather jacket and crossing the ground floor hall, she approached the parlour, Mrs Appleby's beckoning not forgotten as Tiffany placed a hand on the parlour door and slowly eased it open a touch. Sticking her head through the gap, the dimly lit room embroiled in shadows cast from the open fire, the flames leaping and licking with a dull crackle Tiffany took in the view. There, on the couch, sat Mrs Appleby, book spread open on her lap, glasses balancing delicately upon the end of her nose as rain slowly began to patter against the bay window behind her.

"You wanted me?" Tiffany quietly asked, a half hearted smile appearing on her lips.

"Is everything alright?" The old woman asked, placing her bookmark between the pages and slamming the thick, leather bound book closed.

"Yes, it's fine." Tiffany lied. "I just have to go out for a bit."

"But it's raining." Mrs Appleby seemed surprised, turning to the bay window behind her, the darkness drawing in as the rain began to sound heavier against the glass.

"I'll not be long." Tiffany replied, her face still peering through the gap in the door. "I just need to sort some things out."

"Has that idiot said something to upset you?" The old woman again queried.

"No..." Tiffany's voice began to strain, her patience starting to elude her as she desperately tried to get away from the mini interrogation now fully underway. "I just need to clear my head. Give me a minute and I'll get you a drink."

"Thank you." Mrs Appleby smiled, opening her book and returning to whatever lurked upon the pages.

Closing the door behind her Tiffany turned and began walking, her head still spinning as she raced to prepare for her trip, passing the stairs as she entered the huge kitchen before her, a flash of lightning for a split second illuminating the worktops and allowing all manner of shadows to dance along the walls. Flicking the switch as she entered, passing the heavy trunk still nestled by the doorway, the kitchen light flickered into life as she made her way to the sink grabbing the kettle on her way past. Spinning the handle of the tap and placing the open kettle beneath, Tiffany stood motionless as she waited for the kettle to fill, her mind wandering as she continued time and again to recall Jack's words, the stories he had spun, everything. As the water reached the spout of the steel appliance, Tiffany turned the tap and shut off the water, the pressure dying instantly as she turned and made her way back to the hob, igniting the burner as she rested the kettle above. Within a second, the kitchen lights died, the entire house plunged into darkness as a crackle of thunder hammered in the distance, another flash of lightning, this time lighting up the huge garden out back as Tiffany jumped a mile.

"Fuck me..." She placed a hand on her chest and exhaled, the fright causing her to visibly jump as the rain grew faster, heavier, the gentle shower turning to a downpour in an instant. Without turning from the kitchen window, she felt a presence, the small, feeble body of Mrs Appleby standing in the kitchen doorway as she calmly addressed Tiffany, the words rolling from her dry, weathered lips as she spoke.

"Did you find out anything else about Chucky?" She asked innocently, her words falling on her young guest, now stood in a lethargic pose, arms spread wide as the palms of her hands supported her against the smooth marble work surface. Staring vacantly through the window before her, Tiffany's reply began automatically, her mind racing as she started to answer.

"You could say that..." She began, instantly stopping as her body froze, hairs standing as one, heart seeming to skip a beat as a deathly silence fell upon the kitchen and a chill worked its way up her spine. Gathering herself, Tiffany spun on the spot, the empty cup knocked suddenly from the worktop as she accidentally caught it with her hand, shattering as it impacted upon the floor and splintering into hundreds of pieces, Tiffany unflinching as she gave Mrs Appleby a curious look and whispered in a state of shock. "What did you just say?"

Clutching the thick, leather bound book to her chest, both hands clenching it tight as a wry smile formed along her lips, Mrs Appleby narrowed her eyes. Yet another crackle of thunder, the flash of lightning briefly swamping the hall beyond the old woman as her tiny frame cast a silhouette in the doorway of the kitchen, the mysterious trunk resting by her knees as she answered Tiffany slowly, calmly and sternly.

"You heard what I said." Mrs Appleby's voice floated through the air, Tiffany's brain now working overtime as the situation unfolded. "I asked if you'd found out any more about Chucky."

Stunned, disbelief washing over her, Tiffany began to shake her head, her breath becoming shallower as her chest pounded and a million questions seemed to rear their heads at once. Without thinking, her lips started to move, autopilot kicking in as she found herself speaking, unable to finish as Mrs Appleby finished her question for her.

"How do you..." Tiffany began.

"Know?" Appleby finished, hugging the thick, red leather of the book tighter still and nonchalantly flicking a strand of long, greasy hair from her face. "I've always known, you stupid girl! From day one, and before that. I also know about Officer Marsh, but I've stayed quiet... So far."

"What?" Tiffany's tone sounded hollow, her voice breaking slightly. "Why?"

"It was no coincidence." Mrs Appleby began. "You coming here I mean."

A smugness seemed to ruminate from the old woman's words, her demeanour changing instantly as she now stood before Tiffany and let the explanation flow without a care in the world.

"I registered in this infernal 'Inmate Rehabilitation' program almost four years ago now... Around the time of your incarceration to be more precise. From that point I'd keep my eye out, checking regularly, watching, waiting, anticipating your release. I've never been happier than the day I saw your name on that parole list. It was all so perfect, Rita was right here with me going through the list. Naturally she was apprehensive about putting somebody with a record like yours with a vulnerable old woman like me, but I soon talked her round. Told her how good it could be for you, and boy did she ever fall for it."

"I..." Tiffany stuttered, taking an influx of rapid, short, breaths. "I don't understand... I don't get it."

Taking a single step forward, Mrs Appleby lifted the book from her chest and held it up, turning so the front cover was now plainly visible to Tiffany, another flash of lightning as a clap of thunder boomed over the town below.

"It's all in here." She smiled, Tiffany having to squint as she fought to make out the title of the book. Printed across the cover were words that any other time wouldn't have made Tiffany blink once, but the situation unravelling as it was, the way the book was being thrust in her face, she now felt a sickness sweeping over her as she read the title to herself.

**'Who, When &amp; Where?**

**America's Most Infamous Serial Killers'**

Mouth hanging open in a stunned silence, Tiffany listened as Mrs Appleby continued.

"Bundy... Gacy... Dahmer... These people have fascinated me over the years."

"Ray?" Tiffany snapped her glare to the little old woman before her.

"Charles Lee Ray wasn't what I would call interesting." Mrs Appleby answered in an instant. "I mean, all this 'voodoo' added a fresh angle to what, over time, has become such a stagnant topic."

"I still don't understand." Tiffany snapped, her mind clearing steadily, her anger beginning to bubble.

"It was what happened after you see..." Appleby calmly carried on. "That's what caught my attention. The rumours and court case surrounding a supposed 'killer doll', possessed by the spirit of none other than the late Mr Ray. The whispers that he had found a way to live on, effectively cheat death, that's what pulled me in."

A pause, the silence deafening as both women stood in abject silence, another rumble of thunder and a double flash from the skies above the house.

"That was when I started paying more attention to Charles Lee Ray." Mrs Appleby continued. "Discovering the young lover, a prostitute and drug addict, cast aside in favour of the woman in the basement. The same young lover that I would later hear had been incarcerated at Logan Correctional Centre for the attempted murder of her flat mate. One Evan Carter?"

Breathing heavily, a revulsion filling the pit of her stomach, Tiffany snarled through clenched teeth as tears began to roll over her soft cheeks.

"Why would these things interest anybody?" She asked. "You of all people."

Holding her arms out before her, Mrs Appleby watched as Tiffany's eyes dropped to her pale, wrinkled skin. The veins, lurking beneath the incredibly fragile tissue, spiralled visibly down each arm, twists and turns of blues and purples, the wrinkled, weathered skin barely offering any protection whatsoever.

"Why do you think?" She spat at Tiffany. "Do I look like I'm getting any younger? I'm getting old, not that I'd expect a selfish little bitch like you to show any sympathy. There's so much I want to experience before I die, especially now my Gerald isn't here to hold me back."

The tone in Mrs Appleby's voice had now taken on a savage, demented twist as she began to rant, her eyes lighting as though a fire had sparked in her brain.

"That's all he ever did!" She carried on, Tiffany listening as her body tensed and prepared itself for what may come. "Ever since we married. Of course, you couldn't get divorced, not in those days, oh no. People looked at you like nothing more than a common slut if you took the easy way out. It was his death that set me free... Do you see?"

"Jesus Christ..." Tiffany took a step back in disgust, her back now flat up against the corner of the kitchen worktop. "You killed him..."

"Damn right I did." The reply was stern, justified. "Soon as I heard all these rumours, I knew what I had to do. They never suspected a thing either. The sweet, well spoken housewife? Never even crossed their minds."

"I still don't get what this has to do with me." Tiffany asked, seeing Mrs Appleby beginning to grow gradually unstable and trying to keep things calm, all the while her eyes scanning the darkness of the kitchen for a weapon of some sort.

"I don't expect you to." Appleby gave a small chuckle. "See this is the reason I wanted you here all along. It's taken time alright, girl after girl, each one more repulsive and despicable than the last, but by God I knew it would be worth it to get you here. The holy grail so to speak."

"How do you mean?" Tiffany asked, genuinely confused by this point.

"If anybody can discover Charles Lee Ray's secrets it's you!" Mrs Appleby grinned, leaning over the heavy trunk by her feet and placing the book upon the kitchen worktop. "It's simple really. Get his junkie, slut girlfriend here and somehow encourage her to reveal how he pulls off his little 'party trick', helping me live on. In your body no less, despite the fact you let that grease monkey have his way with it, it'll have to do."

"You make such a farfetched story seem so simple." Tiffany laughed, wiping a tear from her eye.

"It would have been so much simpler had you not decided to 'take care' of Rita in such an ugly manner." Appleby snapped.

"She fell!" Tiffany gasped. "You saw it... I didn't kill her..."

"I know what I saw." The old woman interrupted, venom I'm her words. "You had the chance to help her and you didn't. That's as good as murder in my book. If it hadn't been for me, covering up for you and agreeing it was an 'accident' then where would you be right now?"

"So you did that for yourself?" Tiffany cried, astounded. "To keep me here?"

"Then we had that friend of hers show up..." Mrs Appleby proceeded, seeming to not even hear Tiffany as her voice took on a subtle tinge of amusement. "Putting us right back at square one. Needless to say he didn't make it far. Not back to Chicago anyway. In fact I'll never forget the look he gave me, as he cowered in fear, you know that look they give you?"

Tiffany's eyes widened in horror as she listened, the picture building in her mind as she recalled the evening in question, Mrs Appleby continuing with enthusiasm.

"That look they give you as they actually realise it's over. That there's no going back. No matter how much they cry, how much they beg, no matter how pathetic they look."

"You're fucking sick." Tiffany brought a hand to her mouth, now open in shock. "I can't believe what you're telling me!"

Suddenly an eruption of laughter reverberated around the kitchen, the echo amplifying the evil cackle tenfold as Mrs Appleby threw back her head and giggled, slowly returning her gaze to Tiffany.

"What's so sick about wanting to live you idiot?" A twist of hatred in her tone as she spat her bile. "Was it so sick when you murdered officer Marsh for the remains of that infernal doll?"

Silence...

"What was that like?" Appleby carried on. "I've been wanting so badly to ask, ever since you arrived a year ago. More to the point, what exactly did you learn from that little event? What did you find out?"

"Nothing..." Tiff's voice simply a whisper as she stood, stunned, her lower back resting against the kitchen work surface.

"BULLSHIT!" Mrs Appleby hollered at her, fury evident in both her face and her bite as Tiffany pushed herself forward and snapped, screaming straight back.

"That doll had no fucking head!" Her words seemed to surprise the old, Mrs Appleby recoiling slightly. "So unless you expected it to talk out of its ass there's nothing I could do!"

Without saying a word, Mrs Appleby dropped instantly to her knees, chuckling to herself as she fell to the floor and grabbed a hold of the padlock of the heavy trunk by her side. Pulling a key from her apron, she began to fiddle with the lock, mumbling to herself as she did so, the amusement obvious in her voice.

"I know that feeling well." She mumbled. "The anti-climax at the end of a well laid plan I mean. The moment it all goes tits up due to somebody else's incompetence."

Wrestling with the heavy, steel padlock, turning the key and allowing it to drop with a 'thud' to the kitchen floor, Mrs Appleby threw open the lid, a small cloud of dust flying into the air as she reached inside and grabbed something, standing as she did so as Tiffany looked on astonished. In her hand, clenched in her fist and hanging by a tattered and dirt covered leg, was a Good Guy doll. Opposite leg hanging limply by its side, arms outstretched as though praying towards the ground, spinning slightly as it came to a stop and allowed Tiffany to take a closer look. The face was obliterated. Folded in on itself, the rubber coating split in a multitude of places, the doll looked like it had seen better days. The denim overalls were absolutely covered in dirt, soil by the looks of it, and the once vibrant colours of its striped sweater were now nothing other than faded, half chewed material, the dust obviously ground in over a substantial period of time. The red hair had also taken on a more neutral tone, the mistreatment of the past years obviously not agreeing with it one bit. As Tiffany's eyes worked upwards over the doll, hanging in the shaking, outstretched hand of Mrs Appleby, she felt her blood pressure begin to increase, a pounding of repetitive pulses in her ears as she found herself speechless, simply allowing her former friend to explain.

"You think you're the first person to bribe a cop?" Mrs Appleby asked innocently, her tone turning nastier as she continued. "This was from the Simpson murders, back in 1990. No doubt Mr Fuller mentioned that during your little 'chat'."

Tiffany nodded.

"Ten thousand dollars I paid for this to 'disappear'. Money well spent, considering what it could possibly lead to. Imagine my disappointment when it finally arrives, the answer to my prayers, then I discover it's nothing but a plain, ordinary toy!"

Pulling the doll towards her and gripping it around the chest with her free hand, Mrs Appleby applied pressure and the doll began to speak. The voicebox sounded weathered, the once happy greeting now nothing but a stuttering, faltering drone as the mechanism worked its hardest, the voice now filling the kitchen one of the eeriest Tiffany had ever heard.

"Hi..." The dying voice began, sweeping randomly in pitch as the voice cassette laboured. "I'm Tommy... And I'm your... Friend... To the end... Hidey... Ho... Ha ha... Haaaaaaaaaaaaa..."

As the voice lingered, the motor seizing within the doll, Mrs Appleby let rip with a furious punch square in the back of the dolls head, the voice dying instantly before the old woman pulled back and threw with what little strength she had, heaving it with a smash into the kitchen worktop, the doll came to a stop, face down, arms by its side in a star shape.

"That ten thousand dollars was the last of my inheritance." Mrs Appleby sneered as she returned her attention to Tiffany. "Now I' m struggling, every day, you've seen how quiet the store is... The interstate doesn't help either. Thanks to that doll and the lying sack of shit I bought it from, I'm practically bankrupt!"

"Good." Tiffany smiled, laughing as she did spoke. "I hope you die a penniless, old spinster with nothing to your name. Not even friends. Because that's going to be a fucking lonely graveside."

"On the contrary my dear girl." Appleby calmly answered. "With you here I see nothing but good things for my future. You see, you're going to give me that chance to be young again. Live countless lives in luxury."

"What?" Tiffany asked, puzzled, staggered.

"Do you know how much people would be willing to pay? To know the things you're going to help me find out?" Mrs Appleby asked, closing her eyes as a ripple of ecstasy came over her.

"You're crazy!" Tiffany shook her head.

"They'd pay millions. And more..." Appleby continued as Tiffany looked at her in horror.

"You really do have this planned out don't you?" She gasped.

"I have done for a long time." The old woman crowed back at her with a justified nod of the head. "And I'll never be closer than I am right now. So tell me what you found out from that cock sucker Jack Fuller!"

"NOTHING!" Tiffany's response was sharp and sudden, perhaps a little too sudden, a silence falling over the pair as Mrs Appleby examined her closely, eyes fixed on Tiff as she simply smiled and slowly shook her head.

"No..." She playfully said. "You're lying!"

"I'm not!" Tiffany answered, her voice a whimper.

"You know something..." Mrs Appleby began to nod, her smile disappearing as her entire body became paralysed, enlightenment suddenly dawning from some corner of her brain. "You know where the doll is don't you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." Tiffany lied, turning her head, afraid her face may break, give the game away.

Too late, Mrs Appleby one step ahead.

"Don't you fucking lie to me you manipulative little, slut!" She hissed. "I know for a fact he came back! It was in the papers. The Simpson murders, the Barclay boy said he'd come after him again. NOW TELL ME!"

Lip trembling, a fear beginning to creep across her shoulders, Tiffany suddenly found herself doing something she hadn't done in years. She wished Chucky was there. Like he used to be. A coiled spring, ready to leap to her defence, deal with whatever stood in their way, no matter how that ended up working out. But the simple fact was that he wasn't. He wasn't there, and he wasn't going to save her. Not this time. Now, as she dug deep, Tiffany once more answered, her reply not one of innocence, but instead one of defiance.

"I'm telling you shit, you wrinkled little cunt!"

As if by magic, almost as though a switch had been invisibly flicked, Mrs Appleby's persona changed. Her face screwed into a rage the likes of which Tiffany had never seen, which was saying something, the old woman swung to her left, towards the block of knives resting on the surface of the kitchen worktop. Grabbing the butcher knife by the handle and withdrawing it with a satisfying scrape of metal on wood, she turned back to Tiffany and took a step forward. As a crash of lightning illuminated the kitchen, the blade of the knife blunted, the flash from the cold steel lighting up the old woman's eyes as she gritted her teeth and strained her words towards Tiffany, a rumble of thunder in the distance providing a terrifying accompaniment.

"Alright..." She spat. "Then I'll 'make' you talk!"

Without uttering another word, Mrs Appleby stepped forward, knife raised as Tiffany brought her hands to her face, an attempt to shield the inevitable attack coming her way. Unable to stop herself, Tiffany suddenly found the words falling from the tip of her tongue, Mrs Appleby stopping yards away, lowering the knife as she took in the words.

"The factory!" Tiffany blurted. "He took Andy Barclay to the toy factory!"

"Play Pals?" Mrs Appleby's eyes hovered left to right as she let the information sink in.

"Jack Fuller told me." Tiffany carried on. "That's where the body is. The doll!"

"Is it still there?" The old woman asked, jabbing the knife towards Tiffany in a threatening manner. Tiffany nodded.

"Still there..." She answered. "Still rotting. But the factory's been abandoned for years. Jack says they shut down production suddenly. Locked the place down. He says security's the tightest he's ever seen."

"I can imagine..."Mrs Appleby nodded in agreement. "Those fuckers are hiding it from the public. They know what happened in there!"

Another silence fell over the pair as Tiffany regained her composure, the shrivelled little woman before her now in the middle of formulating her next move, the cobwebs clearing as her elderly neurons fired into life, her brain searching for her next move. Suddenly she smiled, a wave of the knife as she motioned towards the kitchen door, now situated behind her frail little body.

"Move your ass." Her voice crackled with a fresh energy as her eyes ignited in optimism and exuberance. "We're going for a drive."

"Where?" Tiffany calmly asked, confused.

"The city." Appleby replied. "That factory."

"No..." Tiffany responded firmly.

"I need that fucking doll..." Mrs Appleby raised the knife once more. "I'm through waiting. I need that doll... To find out his secret. Then when I've done that I'll put you both out of your misery. But don't worry, at least you'll be together. In a fashion. Meanwhile, I'll be free to enjoy my newly discovered youth. Your body will do, for now, but long term I think I'll go for something a little more... Pure."

With that, a fire exploded in Tiffany's stomach as she dug her heels in and curled her fists, her voice low and uncompromising.

"I'm taking you nowhere you insidious old fucker!"

The fuse lit, Mrs Appleby could take no more, suddenly raising her knife and charging at Tiffany, an explosion of lightning rippling across the sky as a voice exploded from behind. The playful tone, in stark contrast to the ensuing situation, chimed through the kitchen and caused the perfect distraction, Mrs Appleby turning in mid-stride and allowing her eyes to fall on the broken, twisted, Good Guy laying upon the work surface, Tommy's voice box now working perfectly.

"Hi..." It began. "I'm Tommy... Wanna plaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaayyyyyyyy?"

Taking advantage of the opportunity granted to her, Tiffany reached for the kettle, still sat atop the gas hob, the flame beneath burning an electric blue as the water inside the steel utensil bubbled and spat. Grabbing the kettle by its handle, Tiffany heaved, lifting it from the hob and swinging it, in one fluid motion, across the front of her body, the impact on Mrs Appleby's face almost knocking the old girl from her feet as she wobbled to the right, the raised knife missing Tiffany by inches as it made contact with the marble worktop by her side. The house cast in a perpetual darkness, Tiffany quickly spun and landed another blow, the piping hot water inside the kettle overflowing this time as it impacted upon the side of Mrs Appleby's face, the screams almost deafening as the water began to burn and scold the old hag's face. As Mrs Appleby dropped to her knees, one hand raised to her face, the other still clenching the butcher knife, Tiffany felt a surge of adrenaline, turning to the hob and blowing out the flame, the heat dying in an instant as the gas continued to be fed through the burner. Watching the old woman scuttling across the floor in agony, Tiffany realised this was her chance, the best chance she would have, to put some ground between the two of them, turning and sprinting to the kitchen door, into the hallway as the agonising screams continued to explode behind her. Reaching the front doorway and grabbing the bag she had left there just moments before, Tiffany grabbed the heavy wooden door and yanked, dread filling her as the door refused to move. Noticing the key had been taken, the door locked, Tiffany suddenly heard the screaming from the kitchen come to an abrupt end, a deathly silence filling the house as she felt every hair on her body stand in unison. She could see the parlour door sitting half open, the flickering light from the burning fire within dancing along the walls and out into the hallway as a voice suddenly screamed in a thunderous rage.

"YOU LISTEN HERE YOU FUCKING SLUT!" Mrs Appleby bellowed. "YOU'RE GOING NOWHERE! DO YOU HEAR ME?"

Refusing to answer, the lightning dancing across the skies outside offering the only real light for her to work with, Tiffany headed back to the stairs, almost there as she felt the weight of Mrs Appleby charge into her from the side. She didn't know how she could miss her, but she had, the wind knocked from her lungs as the two of them fell to the floor in a heap, Mrs Appleby now sat atop her chest, knife raised and a delirious look of insanity etched across her face. As she brought the knife down, the blade cutting through the air, Tiffany yanked her body to the side and felt the knife strike the carpet by her head. Then, swinging an arm and aiming anywhere and everywhere, Tiffany attempted to strike the old girl and hopefully knock her off balance once more, failing as Mrs Appleby dodged the flurry of punches and responded with a sickening punch of her own. Catching Tiffany right in the side of the temple, Mrs Appleby seemed to have a hidden strength, the hallway beginning to grow foggy as Tiffany started to black out, the old woman raising the knife once more and aiming straight for the throat. Fighting the oncoming concussion, Tiffany made one last attempt, realising her biggest advantage was probably her weight, rolling to the side and knocking Mrs Appleby off balance as the knife came down again, the old woman following it as she fell face first into the spot where Tiffany had lay just a split second before. As Tiffany stood hazily to her feet, she noticed Mrs Appleby rise too, running a forearm across her lip before spitting a mouthful of blood and turning to Tiffany. Face twisting in anger once more, she began to charge at Tiffany again, the blade of the knife slicing through thin air as Tiffany valiantly dodged the blur of attacks, one or two landing successfully and cutting through the sleeves of the leather jacket and drawing blood. Ignoring the pain, survival instinct kicking in, Tiffany reached forward without thinking and grabbed Mrs Appleby by the throat, holding her at arms length.

"I'LL KILL YOU!" She screamed, the vitriol pouring from the old woman's mouth. Then without a second thought, Tiffany simply turned and flung Mrs Appleby up against the wall, a rumble of thunder overhead as the side of Mrs Appleby's face made a sickening contact with the hallway wall. Her body falling limp, her voice taking on a slurred and drunken tone, Tiffany repeated the manoeuvre, again and again, aggression growing each time as she repeatedly slammed the old woman's face into the wall, the plaster beginning to crack as Tiffany let out a scream of her own and upped the tempo, the knife falling free from Mrs Appleby's hands as her face became saturated in blood, by now resembling nothing more than a bloody pulp as her breathing became shallow, her grunts and snorts sounding all the more desperate as her body struggled to carry on, lungs now filling with blood as Tiffany continued to batter her, the haze clearing as she relinquished her grip and let the body fall to the floor with a 'thud'. Taking a step back, Tiffany looked on in horror, a revulsion taking over as she fought the urge to vomit, Mrs Appleby now laying in the hallway of her grand house, practically seconds from death. Despite what had occurred this evening, Tiffany felt no desire to deal that final blow. It was in this particular moment that Tiffany's head cleared and she took a look around, putting two and two together as she noticed the flames of the fireplace still dancing manically in the parlour and remembered the gas burner in the kitchen, still spewing the flammable mixture into the house. A malevolent smile forming on her lips, Tiffany dropped to her knees beside Mrs Appleby. Fishing her hand into the old girl's apron pocket, she quickly retrieved the key to the front door before standing and galloping across the hall and grabbing her bag. Quickly, and with good reason, she slid the key into the lock and twisted, the chamber opening with a 'click' as Tiffany emerged into the storm erupting over Mount Carroll. Taking a last look back into the hallway, she could see Mrs Appleby starting to move, the old woman still, even now, putting up a fight as she coughed up a lung full of blood and turned to Tiffany. Beginning to crawl, her words illegible, she spat venom of every kind, her fingernails digging into the thick hallway carpet as she continued to curse and expend every drop of energy. Giving nothing, other than a sly smile, Tiffany simply closed the front door behind her and decided to let karma run its course, the door slamming in the frame as she began to descend the steep, stone steps of the house for the very last time, reaching the barn in seconds and throwing open the huge doors, the gleaming, red body of the Plymouth Fury waiting silently within. Opening the door and slipping behind the wheel, Tiffany threw her bag onto the passenger seat and began to feel the pockets of her leather jacket, pulling a piece of paper free and unfolding it carefully, the name and address of one Selena Thomas still carefully preserved. Sitting in a moment of solitude and casting her mind back, she remembered Selena Thomas's words over a year ago, as the bus travelled along the interstate and towards Tiffany's 'new life'.

"You need money? A job?" She had asked.

Right now Tiffany figured she could use both. As she turned the key in the ignition and the engine roared into life, she applied the throttle and gently eased the car down the side of Appleby's Store. Reaching the road, she stopped short of pulling out, the rain hammering into the windscreen as she threw open the car door and stood from the vehicle, the wind lashing at her, the rain stinging as it hit her face. Taking in the view of the house overlooking the small town below, Tiffany could imagine what was happening up there right now. The old woman, still scrambling to the door, her carefully executed plans laying in pieces as she tried her hardest to salvage whatever she could from the predicament now facing her, blissfully unaware of the gas filling the kitchen and working its way throughout the house, more importantly towards the parlour, and the naked flames of the roaring log fire. Just as Tiffany found herself lost in thought, she noticed something. Up on the hill. The house. The front door opening slowly as the feeble and weakened figure of Mrs Appleby grabbed the door handle and tried bravely to pull herself to her feet, succeeding eventually as she cast her eyes over the scene down below, raising an arm and screaming in Tiffany's direction. But it was too late. Tiffany could feel the heat from the explosion as the house crumbled around Mrs Appleby, the natural gas igniting and sending a shockwave through the ground floor. Walls were ripped apart in milliseconds as the force of the blast literally blew the structural support from the house, the upper floor instantly crashing down as the fireball erupted into the darkness of the evening. Although flinching slightly, shielding her eyes from the blast, Tiffany could just make out the figure of Mrs Appleby as the flames engulfed her tiny, skinny frame, the little old woman evaporated by the extreme heats now roaring around her. As glass began to shower around her, Tiffany returned to the safety of the Plymouths interior, slipping the car into gear and pulling out onto the road, heading towards the interstate.

Tiffany correctly guessing that, by now, she didn't just need a job and some money.

After all this, the inevitable police investigation, she would probably need a new identity altogether...


	21. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

November 13th 1996

Warmth...

Enveloping her entire body...

Water flowing, blasting from the shower head as the steam filled the immaculately tiled bathroom and created a piping hot cloud of moisture, thick enough to choke as the door slowly and quietly opened. The perfectly polished shoes crept slowly across the floor tiles, the sound of running water and the occasional clunk from the antique plumbing masking the entrance of the man as he gently closed the door behind him and began to unfasten his shirt. From where he stood, narrowing his eyes and peering into the fog before him, he could just about make her out. Her heavenly body hidden behind the frosted glass of the shower door as she twisted and squirmed, the soap lathering magnificently along her shoulders before seductively slipping over the edge and sliding down her back. She had an undeniable quality that he had found lacking in the majority of his women, which was the ability to have the angelic appearance of complete and utter innocence, whilst at the same time giving off an aura of sheer, unbridled filth. Perhaps that was what had drawn him to her. Made him chase. Never relenting, almost destined it would seem to be in the position they both found themselves now. True she was half his age, and would almost certainly be seen as a gold digger by his immediate circle of friends and family, but just clapping eyes on this girl seemed to miraculously shave the years from his joints. Removing his shirt and slipping the shoes from his feet, he gave a smile as he reached below and began to untie his belt, trousers and underwear both falling to the floor instantly as he now stood completely naked and took in the sight of his lover, water flowing over her head, hair drenched as she took a deep breath and thrust her head beneath the shower head. Feeling his knees creak as he crept closer to her, he thanked his lucky stars and allowed a smile to cross his lips, more honoured than anything that the beautiful young girl before him had so much as looked at him twice. Reaching for the shower door and pulling it open with a click he stepped inside, his young female companion spinning in surprise, his lips against hers almost immediately, no time for pleasantries as she felt his hands grasp at her waist and push her gently back under the shower head. Her blonde hair saturated, the water cascading from the fixture above them, she closed her eyes and kissed back, feeling his hands creep slowly upwards, his tongue entering her mouth as he passionately forced himself upon her. Not the most romantic of scenarios, she could hear herself saying in her head, but she'd be a barefaced liar if she claimed not to love it this way. The secret meetings in hotel rooms, the feeling of his dominant figure forcing itself upon her as she submitted to him in every way. By now, his hands were on her breasts, generously sized, gleaming in the running water, his hands barely able to cradle them as she felt her nipples stand proud, erect under his touch, her hands clamped to his cheeks now dropping slowly down his body. Running over his chest, stopping briefly at his abdomen, she suddenly felt them wrapping around his penis, the rigidness, the length making her a completely different kind of wet. Opening her eyes, she smiled as she found him looking back at her, his eyes boring into hers as she reached for the shower gel and grasped it in her free hand. Applying a liberal amount to her opposite palm, she returned to his shaft, stroking him up and down, twisting her wrist as she did so, squirming in delight of her own as she felt him become harder, the shower gel, now a lather, working in unison with the movement of her wrist, friction minimal as she began to work him harder. Faster, rougher, his hands now clamped to her breasts, he pulled his lips from hers and arched his body backwards, gasping in delight as the water ran over both their naked bodies, his tweaking of her nipples now becoming stronger, more vigorous as they both played with each other. Without saying a word, she instantly dropped to her knees, his hands releasing her as she did so, the man standing there in ecstasy as the water sprayed the both of them. Looking up from her position, kneeling right before him, the woman gave a smile, her hand still gripping his erect penis, her wrist still working valiantly as she yanked his foreskin back, quicker and harder every time, the slightest pain bringing a smile to his face as she turned her attention back to his solid member. Slowly, almost teasing, she allowed her lips, thick and luscious, to very gently slide over the tip of his penis, his groans coming stronger as she continued playing with him violently, her lips now sliding over the tip and swallowing the gland completely as she continued to take him in her mouth, feeling him touch the back of her throat as she slid her lips to the very base of his shaft, withdrawing slowly as she looked up once more, the enjoyment evident on his face, his arms up, hands pressed against his greying hair in delight. Still playing, she withdrew her lips before repeating the procedure time and again, swallowing him, licking, teasing as she felt him pulse inside her mouth, the moment surely not far off as his breathing grew shallower, rapid as she continued to suck, his dick in her mouth fulfilling her every desire as she felt the hormones raging through her body. Before she knew it, she felt him tense, his body tighten as he reached the peak, his ejaculation coming completely unannounced as she felt the warm, bittersweet fluid hit the back of her mouth. The sound of the gushing water was no match for the volume of his cries, her lips still clamped around his manhood as he fired not once, not twice, but three times, each and every time forcing her to swallow his load. After a few seconds, when she knew for definite that he was done, she slowly rolled her lips back up his now softening length and released him from her mouth, his face one of elation as she looked up into his eyes and gave him a smile, slowly lifting her arm and casually using the back of her hand to wipe her lips clean.

"Mmmmmmmm..." She teased with a playful smile, the water still rolling over every curve of her body, glad to see the recent ejaculation had not dampened his spirit one iota. "My turn now?"

"Take it easy honey." He beamed, gasping as he ran his fingers tenderly down the side of her face. "We've got all night."

Fumbling along the surface of the bedside table, dazed, the lack of light in the room casting a blanket of darkness over every square inch, she fought the drowsiness and felt her hand grip the clock. God only knew what time they'd managed to finally get to sleep, her lover taking minimum time to feel reinvigorated following their shower antics and proceeding to take her time and time again. At first it had been raw, rampant intercourse. Savage, rough, erotic and brimming over with a sensual lust she claimed to have never experienced before, her lover too believe it or not, despite his advancing years. As they moved from the bathroom and into the hotel room itself, things had become more relaxed, the animal urges giving way to a passion, a gentleness as he began to caress and tenderly kiss, his hands working over every inch of flesh as he sought to pleasure her in ways she had never dreamed possible, succeeding as her screams filled the room, neighbouring guests left with little to imagine as her cries came again and again, time after time, louder with each wave of pleasure at his hands. Spinning the device to face her and blinking in the face of the bright, red, digital display, she felt a horror as the readout took a few seconds to sink in, the time displayed reading 02:24. Kicking the bed covers from her body and sitting bolt upright, the woman swung her legs over the edge of the bed and instinctively felt for the light, finding the lamp by her side and flicking the switch, now illuminating her side of the room in a dull, tranquil glow. Taking a deep breath and allowing herself time to adjust to the light, her eyes steadily started to focus and began to wander the floor. Finding their clothes strewn across the carpet in every direction, she pushed herself to her feet and began to gather her own garments, dressing as quickly as she could. Sliding the thin, lace material that somewhat resembled underwear over her knees and up to her waist, she hurried, next grabbing the soft, nylon stockings, laying side by side and gently unrolling them along the length of each leg, the beautiful, firm skin beneath now taking on a darker tone as the material covered her impressive, long legs, quickly fastening the clasps hanging from her underwear. Next, finding what barely passed for her dress hanging from the end of the bed post, she continued, placing it over her head and allowing the garment to fall the length of her voluptuous, well toned body, the shoulder straps stopping it from falling further as she wiggled a touch, straightening out the incredibly thin fabric as her ample bosom threatened to spill over the bust, the bottom of the dress barely covering her perky, firm ass, and indeed the lace tops of her stockings. Almost dressed, she scanned the floor once more. Only one of her heels lay accounted for. Suddenly, spying the missing shoe half hidden beneath the bed, she delicately coaxed it from its hiding place and slipped her feet inside, the heels lending an extra four or five inches to her petite stature as she spun around and took in the room, thinking, wondering, more importantly worrying, what she could be forgetting. Then it hit her. Jewellery. A pair of earrings and a watch sat proudly beside the digital clock, the woman completely bemused at how she missed them when switching on the bedside lamp. Reaching for her earrings, she gently pushed her hair behind her ears, the thick, blonde shoulder length locks making way as she frantically slid the hooks of the tiny accessories through the tiny holes punched in the base of her ears, fastening them before finally reaching for her watch, jumping in fright as a hand shot out of the darkness and gripped her tight.

"Jesus Roland!" She exhaled, a smile appearing as she froze, her heart racing. "You almost gave me a damned heart attack!"

"I could say the same thing." Roland smirked, relaxing his grip and allowing her to pull away. "You almost gave me four tonight."

"I know." She giggled, securing her watch around her wrist and checking the time. "You didn't disappoint either."

"What time is it?" Roland asked, straining his eyes towards the clock, giving up as he turned and reached for his glasses, the wiry framed optical apparatus resting on the opposite bedside table.

"Almost two thirty!" She answered as she bent double and grabbed her handbag, the tops of her stockings flashing briefly as Roland suddenly perked up, his hand reaching out and slithering around her waist, pulling her in and taking her breath.

"Then we have plenty of time." He laughed as she fell into his arms, now sitting beside him, arms tight around her waist as he buried his face in her hair and began to kiss her neck.

"I'd love to." She sighed, leaning forward and turning to face him, resting on the edge of the bed. "But I have to go. I told my sitter I'd be back by one. She's probably dialled 911 already."

"Well, if you insist." He released his arm and allowed her to stand, eyes never leaving her frame, sheer sex exuding from every molecule of her body. Finally, he gave her a sympathetic look and spoke, his playful expression disappearing instantly as his tone turned serious. "It won't always be like this you know."

"Yeah, yeah." She answered, opening her handbag and fishing through the contents.

"I mean it Sarah." He replied flatly. "I'm coming clean."

"What?" She stopped, casting her eyes in his direction, the soft cotton bedsheets covering his naked body, hormones surging as she fought the urge to jump right back in bed with him.

"I'm telling Mary." He responded. "This weekend. I can't keep doing this. It's not fair to you... To us."

"You mean it?" Sarah answered, dropping to a sitting position by his side once more, his warm hand stroking her shoulder.

"Really." He replied. "It's you I love. I can't keep living a lie."

Turning towards him, eyes welling up, Sarah couldn't help it. A smile broke out as she gave an ecstatic giggle and threw her arms around him.

"My god." She wept, eyes streaming with happiness. "I don't know what to say."

"Say you'll wait for me." He asked. "We can't be together at once. The second she gets wind of an affair she'll bleed me dry."

"Of course, of course." Sarah pulled back, wiping her tears, the long nails gracing her finger tips almost scratching her face. "And my boys?"

"I can't wait to meet them." Roland laughed. "Now go on. Get out of here. I'll call you tomorrow."

Planting her lips upon Roland's, Sarah kissed him, long, hard and slow, before standing from the bed and fishing her car keys from the open handbag still clenched in her hand.

"Speak tomorrow baby." She whispered as she reached the door and blew him a kiss. "I love you too."

And with that she was gone. Disappearing into the corridors of the hotel as Roland threw his hands behind his head and relaxed, kicking the soft bed linen from his naked body and allowing the cool air of the Chicago night to envelope him at once. As a wry smile crossed his lips he began to laugh to himself. How could he leave Mary? Mary who had been by his side since day one, supporting him through medical college, taking care of things at home in a way only she could manage. No that simply wouldn't do. Besides which she'd be entitled to half of everything, more if news of his affair with Sarah ever became common knowledge. No, Sarah was a fun girl, but he wasn't willing to sacrifice everything he'd ever worked for, not for her. But she was happy, and that was what mattered right now. Fingers crossed, he could have another night like this next month, a burst of laughter as he felt his groin ache, the nights events leaving him a little sore. She was a beautiful girl alright, but far from classy. Not quite trash, but a whore when she wanted to be, which was the only department his beloved Mary had ever let him down in. But considering the fun he'd had tonight, he wouldn't have it any other way.

Strolling the length of the empty corridor, Sarah found herself aching, a smirk as she fondly recalled the events of the evening herself, Roland not holding back as he appeared to unleash years of pent up sexual frustration. She'd always known it would be like this, tried to tell herself not to get too involved. But then the phone calls started, the flowers, the gifts, how was she ever supposed to feel anything other than what she felt right now? Stopping and pressing the button for the elevator, she waited patiently, her eyes taking in the reflection cast in the elevator door. From the tips of her high heels to the very top of her wavy blonde hair, she had to admit she looked magnificent tonight, which was no less than Roland deserved. Sure he was old enough to be her father, but who cared? Not her, that was for damned sure. Deep in thought, the elevator door suddenly opened, the empty carriage before her now beckoning Sarah in as she stepped gracefully inside and turned to the control panel, struggling to remember which floor she was parked on. Remembering, she pressed the button for the second floor and leaned against the cold back wall of the elevator, watching as the doors slowly closed and she began her descent, leaving floor five and arriving at her destination in a matter of seconds. As the doors opened once more and Sarah stepped into yet another generic hotel corridor, she simply hung a left and headed through the double doors before her, quickly finding herself in the glum lighting of the multi-storey car park, her car sitting just a few spaces across the concrete as Sarah picked up the pace and approached the stationary vehicle, key at the ready as she automatically slid it into the lock of the door and twisted, the car door unlocking with a click. As she opened the driver's door the interior light flickered on, remaining that way as she climbed in and slammed the door closed, adjusting the rear view mirror and carefully examining herself before reaching into her bag and applying a few dabs of foundation. The heat was incredible, especially for a November night. Or was it just her? Cheeks flushed, a post-coital radiance giving her a vibrant glow, the car seemed like a furnace as she grabbed the handle sitting on the door panel and wound the window down, an influx of air making her body feel fresh and chilled. Applying an extra touch of mascara, she decided to tone it down a touch. The idea was that she looked as though she'd been for a night out with friends, the designated driver, but still looking like a good night had been had. She had to laugh at the irony of that, the strokes of the mascara brush harder to control as the giggles increased. Of course she'd had a good night. The best night of her life no less. But that was something completely different. Returning her various beauty products to the confines of her handbag, Sarah sat back in the driver's seat and took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts as she sat behind the wheel of the relatively new 1993 Honda Civic. Remembering the time, Sarah snapped herself from her daydreaming and jammed the key in the ignition, twisting and hearing the 1.6 litre engine fire into life, the 16 valve engine purring like a content kitten, as though it had just left the factory. Not the biggest or fastest car, but reliable, which was what she needed. After all, a single mother with two sons had enough on her plate without having to worry about the reliability of her car. Suddenly a sound erupted from somewhere else within the parking lot, the floor above almost trembling as another engine growled into existence, the low pitch, but deafening roar of the hungry machine echoing throughout the concrete pillars and deserted structure, the driver of said engine giving it some gas as the revs climbed before plummeting again, the throaty exhaust blowing the cobwebs from the rafters of the multi-storey lot. Thinking nothing of it, Sarah slipped the Honda into gear and released the parking brake, gently applying the gas and manoeuvring the car towards the downwards ramp as her eyes flitted towards the dashboard clock, now reading 02:45. Crossing the first floor and descending again, Sarah found herself at the bottom of the exit ramp and about to pull onto the quiet back street, taking a second to look both ways before pulling into the empty street and turning left, heading towards the upcoming intersection and the even quieter main road. As she approached the end of the road, she caught sight of something in her rear view mirror. Another car, leaving the hotel parking lot and pulling away from the exit ramp, also turning left and heading towards the intersection before steadily coming to a stop behind her. Although dark and straining her eyes, Sarah could tell it was a red car, and a large one at that. But apart from that she was absolutely clueless, although she really had no call for a more thorough examination. She would have been the last person to find something shocking about somebody leaving a hotel in the middle of the night. Turning her attention back to the road and signalling right, Sarah once again checked both directions before easing the Civic onto the barren streets and heading downtown. The car behind followed on, hanging back as the two vehicles calmly rolled along, the odd pedestrian making their way home as the last of the local drinking establishments closed for the night. Passing through town Sarah found it astounding how the streets looked. Completely empty, so different to the rush hour traffic she had grown used to. Countless hours stuck bumper to bumper. Roadworks, accidents, all manner of events to blame as each and every car struggled through the overcrowded city streets, horns blaring as voices hollered over the sounds of numerous engines, each one accusing another motorist of some petty misdemeanour or another. The buildings whizzing past had never looked so dilapidated either, the weathered store fronts and crumbling office blocks only serving to backup the run down reputation the area found itself lumbered with these days, the darkness doing little to mask the peeling paint and broken windows. Passing beneath a railway bridge, Sarah's eyes were instantly distracted, the warning light suddenly illuminating on the instrument panel as the gas light blinked incessantly, the car running low on gas. Mind temporarily diverted, she returned her full attention to the road ahead, just missing the battered, and worn news stand as she passed, the owner's sandwich board chained to a nearby streetlight as it proudly displayed the most recent headline of the Chicago Tribune, the words standing out against the off white background.

**_'Woman Murdered - Execution Leaves Police Baffled'_**

Brain frantically working away, Sarah ran through a mental map of the area, trying to think, work out the nearest gas station as her hands and feet entered autopilot, the steering wheel turning fluidly, heels working the pedals as she took turn after turn. Over time, the surroundings became more and more distressed as she entered a notoriously troubled district, crime and gang violence among an all time high as Sarah locked her doors and kept moving, looking in her rear view mirror to find the same car sat a safe distance away. Slightly disturbed, an uncomfortable feeling swept across Sarah as she allowed her eyes to flick from the road to her mirror, pulling over slightly and slowing, signalling the car behind to overtake, get past and leave her be. But the more she slowed, the closer she came to the kerb, the less likely it looked that the following vehicle had any intention of passing, the hulking red monster of a car keeping its distance as the engine thundered under the lack of revs. Turning her eyes from the mirror and back towards the road, she felt relieved as a gas station appeared on the horizon, speeding up a little as she approached and signalled in. Figuring this would be a defining moment, Sarah kept one eye on the mirror as she slowed, turning from the road and creeping onto the gas station forecourt. The car behind, Sarah figured, would do one of two things. Either carry straight on, which would hopefully dispel any feelings of paranoia she had felt building over the last ten minutes, or the car would follow in to the gas station, allowing Sarah to get a good look at the driver. Much to her relief, as she came to a stop beside a gas pump, Sarah watched as the red classic rolled straight on past the gas station, a Plymouth Fury unless she was mistaken, the driver well hidden behind the glass, the reflection of the gas stations lights providing an unwelcome shield as Sarah cursed her luck and killed the engine. Maybe it was the lack of sleep. Maybe it was a guilty conscience. No matter how good her times with Roland were, there was always the feeling at the back of her head, constantly there, never letting her relax, even for a second, like a vulture feverishly picking at a freshly discovered corpse. The 'other woman' thing wasn't ideal, and truth be told she felt awful, imagining how she would take it were it to be the other way around. But there was something about the whole scenario that had her addicted, Roland able to reel her in at a moment's notice, and not just because of the money, the gifts, but the way he made her feel. Taking a deep breath and allowing herself to relax, Sarah threw open the driver's door and walked to the rear of the car, lifting the nozzle of the gas pump and removing the filler cap of the Honda. Pumping twenty dollars worth of gasoline into the tank, Sarah replaced the nozzle and opened the door of the car, reaching into her bag and pulling the last twenty dollar bill from her purse before skipping across the forecourt and approaching the security glass. Quickly slipping her money underneath the glass and giving the young cashier a smile, she turned and headed back to the car, the unmistakable feeling of being watched as she felt the young man's eyes slowly work their way up her stockings and over her butt, eventually coming to a stop before working their way back down. She had to give herself a little smile at the very thought, the feeling that somebody could be watching her and having inappropriate thoughts kind of turned her on if she were to be honest, pulling open the car door and delicately climbing inside, giving her new admirer a sly smile and a wave as she started the engine and proceeded to leave the gas station, rejoining the road and heading for home. Turning on the radio and fiddling with the tuner, she cursed the failing electronics of the cheap, Japanese component, calming eventually as the radio finally settled, picking up some obscure alternative rock station. Feeling the chill of a sudden breeze, Sarah rolled the driver's window back up, the cold beginning to bite slightly as she drove along, the cars suspension riding every pothole and gliding over the asphalt of Chicago's South Side. Deciding to give the radio station five minutes, Sarah relaxed as she handled the vehicle, giving the station sufficient chance before finding it to her disliking. Allowing her eyes to leave the road for a few seconds, she fiddled with the buttons once more, finding nothing but a squealing distortion, piercing the ears as she gritted her teeth and instantly snapped the radio off, cursing once more as she approached another intersection, the lights red as Sarah gently applied the brakes and came to a stop, the quiet morning still beautiful and serene as the area lay dormant beneath the many streetlights. All at once she found herself ripped from her day dreams, the rumbling noise of an engine erupting as a car pulled up behind, Sarah peering into both her wing mirrors in shock, spinning in her seat and almost blinded by the headlights of the mighty machine as she noticed one distinctive feature regarding the vehicle now sat ticking over to her rear. It was red. The same car? She couldn't tell for sure, such was the proximity of the vehicle to her rear fender, but she had a feeling deep down that it was indeed the same car. What the fuck was this? A joke? Somebody playing a trick? Trying, maybe, to scare her? Then it hit her hard. The only logical conclusion Sarah could come to sending a chill down her spine as her hairs stood on end. It had to be Mary. Roland had never spoken at length about his wife, but Sarah knew from what she'd heard that Mary wasn't a fool. Definitely not somebody to let the trivial matter of an extramarital affair pass by without some form of revenge, be it Roland or Sarah that became the target. It had to be her. Simply had to be. She'd learned of their secret and had decided to confront Sarah once and for all. Of course she had no need to intimidate Roland in this manner, that would be the job of Mary's lawyer as she applied for her share of the family's estate, but as far as Sarah was concerned Mary would see her as fair game, the rage burning deep within and now bubbling to the surface, a dragon unleashed. Seeing the interior of the Honda change from the crimson red of the lights hanging way above the vehicle, Sarah turned back towards the road, the car now bathed in a sea of green as the light indicated the intersection was now safe to cross, Sarah panicking and slipping the car into first, lifting the clutch and hammering the throttle. The wheels of the Honda spun and screeched, a thin layer of rubber melting from the tyres as the car burned away from the lights, the Plymouth sitting motionless before the driver eventually popped the clutch and calmly followed on. Calmness, unfortunately, was a factor not afforded to Sarah, her Honda bursting forward, speeding through the streets of Chicago's South Side as she switched through the gears and jammed the gas pedal to the floor, the speed limit well and truly forgotten for the time being as she looked in her rear view mirror, the Plymouth at first lagging badly behind, suddenly seeming to catch up as the driver gave it some gas, the two cars brought closer as the stretch of road came to an end, Sarah having to apply the brakes at the last minute and carefully take the corner, the pursuing car doing the same, only recovering far more quickly as the hood of the car loomed over the rear of Sarah's tiny Honda. Up ahead another set of lights, changing from green to red as Sarah's eyes flickered from front to back, hitting the throttle again and powering through the lights and across the intersection. Looking in her mirrors, she felt a wave of nausea overcome her as the red Plymouth also upped its speed, ploughing across the empty intersection like there was no tomorrow, the driver obviously setting her sights on one thing and one thing only, Sarah's Honda. The streets kinked and turned, the cars fighting a frantic duel as they sped along, hubcaps flying from the two vehicles as they careered into sidewalks, bouncing over the uneven road surface, the Plymouth never relenting, the driver refusing to let up as Sarah became more and more scared, increasingly desperate as panic turned to terror. Hitting speeds way in excess of the appropriate limits, both cars continued, houses and store fronts a blur as they grew steadily faster, the Plymouths front fender connecting with the back of the Honda and sending a jolt through the chassis, rocking Sarah, who in turn let out a frightened shriek. Taking another look into the rear view mirror, Sarah narrowed her eyes and tried to make out the figure sitting behind the wheel, an impossible task as the cars headlights shone brightly, Sarah finding them blinding as she spun to face forward, retinas temporarily scorched. Before she knew it another intersection loomed, both cars zooming through the dilapidated streets as Sarah tried to brake, the Plymouth seizing the opportunity and ramming from behind, pushing the tiny Honda onwards and towards the intersection, Sarah pressing the brake pedal over and over, looking ahead and seeing a bus approaching from the right. The driver of the Plymouth also seemed to spy the upcoming obstacle, dropping a gear and accelerating even more, pushing the Honda faster and faster despite Sarah's best efforts. It was no use, the more she braked the harder the red Plymouth rammed her, pushing her along, the momentum working against her as the heavy vehicle behind showed no sign of slowing, only gaining speed. Closing her eyes and throwing both hands over her eyes, Sarah drew a deep breath and felt everything go silent, time seeming to slow as she awaited the fatal collision with the public transport. Feeling nothing, Sarah was drawn from her hiding place by the blaring horn of the bus, the driver alerting her to his presence as he passed by, the rear fender of the bus literally making it in time as the Plymouth finally relented and began to slow, Sarah's car missing the bus by inches as she finally hammered the brake vigorously, the car spinning across the intersection and into a row of parked cars, glass and twisted metal flying in all directions. Dazed, bleeding and battered, Sarah slowly came to, her concussion making the scenery spin as she reached for the door handle and stepped from the mangled wreckage that was her car, legs failing her as she helplessly dropped to her knees and vomited across the road. Lifting her hand to her face, she felt the pain burning away, examining her hand to discover fresh blood, the impact causing her to smash her head into the steering wheel, a few teeth loosened too by the looks of things. It was at this moment, the ghetto surrounding her predicament unflinching, that Sarah both heard and felt the familiar rumbling of the Plymouth's thunderous engine, looking up and casting her gaze into the blinding headlights of the vehicle as it sat yards away, the driver remaining inside as the engine bubbled viciously, the exhaust throaty and raw. Trying to stand, the pain too much, Sarah fell to the concrete below, arms outs wide as she tried to support herself, looking up once more as a fire erupted from inside, Sarah finally snapped, her voice breaking as she hollered across to the Plymouth.

"IT'S ME HE WANTS!" Sarah cried in torment. "FACE IT AND MOVE ON YOU BITCH!"

No reaction whatsoever, the engine of the Plymouth still idling as the driver remained hidden Sarah continuing as blood poured from her face, the suspected broken leg sending a jolt of pain surging through her lower body. Right now, pain was only temporary, merely an inconvenience as she burst forth with her vitriol.

"SHOW YOURSELF YOU COWARD!"

Now something. The engine of the Plymouth suddenly dropping silent, the exhaust coughing its final breath as the headlights died and the street fell deadly quiet. All of a sudden, Sarah heard a click, looking up to find the driver's door of the Plymouth slowly opening and a leg stepping out, the spiked heel of a stiletto striking the asphalt with a solid contact. Standing from the driver's seat and slamming the door closed, Sarah was shocked to take in the figure before her. Working her eyes from top to bottom, she began by examining the expensive heels, continuing up the stocking clad legs and across the tiny black dress, the small handbag hanging from the heavenly shoulders, the heaving chest leading into a beautiful face hidden behind a pair of dark glasses. The woman before her was probably not much taller, or indeed older, than Sarah herself, stunning to look at as her long brunette hair fell halfway down her back, her long legs beginning to slowly pace towards her. It was in this moment, that Sarah had a revelation, figuring that the young woman now stepping towards her was not in fact the small, unattractive and feeble little woman of advancing years that Roland called his wife, but was in fact somebody completely different. Most likely somebody completely unrelated too. Thinking of the words to say, Sarah was astonished to find the words involuntarily leaping from her tongue, the shock and adrenaline taking over as she found herself only able to listen in on her own words.

"Who are you?" Sarah asked bewildered.

No answer.

"Please..." She continued, practically begging, all efforts to reason with her unknown pursuer falling on deaf ears. "I have kids."

Still nothing, the woman remaining silent as Sarah wept on, only one question remaining as she battled through the dizziness, fighting the urge to vomit once again as she quietly whispered through the tears.

"What do you want?"

Without saying a word, the woman reached into her handbag, hanging from her shoulder, positioned conveniently by her waist, and withdrew a small pistol, before giving her head a casual flick and tossing the long brunette hair from her face. Pulling back the hammer of the pistol, she gripped the handle of the gun in both hands and lifted, aiming the barrel straight at the injured woman before her.

"NO!" Sarah screamed, sobbing hysterically as her voice strained, breaking as she pleaded on, begged again for answers as the tears flowed over her battered and bruised cheeks.

"What have I done?"

Then the woman spoke. Soft, almost falsetto, such was the pitch of her voice, as she smiled an evil smile and cooly replied.

"Probably nothing..."

Without so much as a warning, the woman suddenly squeezed the trigger of the pistol, arms jerking slightly as the small gun kicked like a mule, a total of four shots ringing out across the small area of Chicago's South Side, the houses littering the vicinity unmoving as a dog began to bark somewhere in the distance, a lone voice hollering into the early morning air to shut the hell up. Approaching Sarah's still warm body, the woman placed the gun back in her bag, rolling her eyes in amusement at the unidentified voice, and dropped to a squatting position, surveying the damage. Two shots in the chest, one in the neck and one in the face, all in all a good nights work. Standing, the woman gave Sarah's warm body a gentle kick, no response as she turned and started to approach the wreckage of Sarah's car. Reaching it in only a few short strides, the woman leaned in, spying Sarah's handbag and snatching it from the passenger side foot well. Standing tall and proceeding to retrace her steps, the woman searched the contents of the bag, releasing it from her grip as she pulled Sarah's purse free and opened it, ripping the various credit cards and identification from within, dropping all but one. Examining the driving licence now held firmly in her grasp, the woman dropped to her knees and compared the picture with Sarah's still warm corpse, enthusiastically allowing her lips to curl into a satisfied grin. Not only did the picture match perfectly, but the name was exactly what she had hoped to see.

'Sarah Pirce'

Rising to her feet and turning, the woman steadily started to make her way back to the Plymouth, tossing Sarah Pirce's driving licence over her shoulder and whispering quietly as she climbed back inside her own car and fired the engine into life, whispering to herself with a smirk as she slipped the car into first and pulled away, into the night.

"Two down..."

November 14th 1996

Leaping from his car newspaper above his head as the Baltic conditions swept across the parking lot, rain hammering from the heavens, Doctor Jacob Wright turned and slid the key into his car door, locking the vehicle behind him as he spun and began to race across the lot, puddle after puddle splashing around his ankles as he felt the water soak through his trousers, the cold beginning to bite as he tore across the asphalt. For a man approaching his sixtieth birthday, he was rather spritely, his slim figure and tall stature helping tremendously as he quickly reached the entrance of the building and repeatedly pressed the buzzer by the door, the receptionist looking up from behind the warmth of her desk and instantly releasing the lock as the door buzzed and fell silently open. Lowering his newspaper and giving it a shake, the doctor approached the desk and gave the young girl a smile as he greeted her, the sound of the driving rain slowly dying behind him, replaced by the voice of a local newscaster emanating from the radio as the door automatically closed.

"Morning Samantha." He began, his eyes working over the pretty young receptionist, all long blonde hair and well manicured fingers, quickly remembering the rules as she reached for the radio. "It's okay. I know how lonely the night shift gets. I think I'd be needing something to occupy me too were I in your shoes."

"Morning Doctor Wright." She smiled back, leaning to the side as she looked past the doctor and out into the downpour, the rain only seeming to get heavier as she watched and felt the comfort of the lobby. "I only turned it on for five minutes, then the news came on. Have you heard?"

"Heard what my dear?" The doctor asked, picking up the bulging file from Samantha's desk and carefully opening it, examining the latest notes.

"There's been a murder." The receptionist's eyes grew wide as she spoke. "Some woman. Shot four times, somewhere over South Side."

"Hmm?" Doctor Wright looked up from the file sitting in his hands, snapping the folder closed and placing it under his arm. "My word that's terrible. What have the police said? Have they apprehended anybody?"

"They haven't said anything other than she was shot four times." Samantha carried on. "Almost like there's something they don't want to tell us. I'm willing to bet it's connected to that other murder two days ago."

"What 'other murder'?" Doctor Wright asked, Samantha growing in volume and enthusiasm as she filled him in, relaying the story plastered across every newspaper, television broadcast and radio station over the last couple of days. Much to the doctor's surprise, another woman had been found hanging from a tree just two days previous, the local news going into meltdown as the story broke that she had indeed been strung up, but only after having been shot three times in the head and chest.

"Makes you wonder what the world's coming to." He sighed. "Oh well. What do we have for me this time then? I assume this file is for me?"

"Your favourite patient." Samantha answered. "Says she absolutely must speak to you, the second you came in."

"Isn't that usually the case?" He laughed, turning as he approached a pair of double doors in the far corner of the room, removing the ID card from the breast pocket of his jacket and running it across the card reader.

"Can I get you anything doctor?" Samantha asked as the card reader lit up, a bright, vibrant green as the locking mechanism of the double doors disabled with a clunk, Doctor Wright beginning to push the door open.

"No thank you Samantha." He answered with a cheery smile, his weathered face almost disappearing beneath a sea of wrinkles as he turned and made his way through the door, entering a brilliant white corridor, remarkably clean as the sign on the wall greeted him on his arrival.

'Illinois State Mental Facility'

Gripping the file beneath his arm and picking up the pace, Doctor Wright began to make his way to the counselling suite, his wet loafers squeaking heavily on the immaculate white linoleum floor as he walked along, the various offices and waiting rooms silent and empty as he hurried past and towards his destination, a lone voice ringing out suddenly and catching Doctor Wright of guard.

"Jacob, you old bastard." The friendly voice of Doctor Thomas Hoffmann rang out, echoing through the corridors as Doctor Wright spun in shock.

"Jesus Thomas!" He spat, his heart racing as he composed himself.

"What's the matter old boy?" Doctor Hoffmann laughed as he slapped his friend firmly on the shoulder, the cup in his opposite hand filled to the brim with steaming hot coffee.

"These early morning starts." Doctor Wright laughed as he caught his breath. "They'll be the death of me, I swear it."

"Hey it could be worse." Hoffmann instantly replied, a coy smile as he did so. "You could be stuck doing the graveyard shift, like me."

Was this a sly dig? Probably. Doctor Wright had often suspected his decision to bump Hoffmann to the night shift had gone down like a lead balloon. Not just with his old friend, but the nursing team also. Rumour had it that the night shift had become something of a militarized zone recently, far from the free flowing, anarchistic atmosphere of old. Doctor Hoffmann had seen to it that if he was working the night shift, then so was everybody else. No time for socialising, smoking, drinking the night away in the staff cafeteria. No, the way Hoffmann saw it, there was always something needed doing, even if that meant making a start on the day shift activities.

"Somebody has to do it Thomas." Doctor Wright countered, lifting his wrist and pulling back the sleeve of his tweed jacket. "It could be much worse. Think of that poor woman that's all over the news."

"Yeah I guess." Hoffmann replied with a shrug. "Some sick bastards out there."

"So you've heard?" Doctor Wright smiled.

"Okay, okay you caught me." Hoffmann held up his hands in defeat. "I had a quick break earlier on, that shit was all over the news. Although the police don't seem to be saying much."

"Well, I'm sure they have their reasons." Doctor Wright exhaled.

"Yeah, probably." Hoffmann answered, instantly changing the subject as he noticed the file tucked away beneath Doctor Wright's arm. "So... They finally gave in and paged you huh?"

"Looks like it." Wright replied, his own eyes falling to the file before shooting back to his friend. "What do you mean finally?"

"She's had us on our toes all night." Hoffmann blinked, a yawn developing from nowhere as he stretched slowly. "Been demanding to see you since late last night. Figured we'd give her time to calm down, see what came of it. Didn't want to wake you for nothing."

"I see." Doctor Wright pursed his lips and turned, gesturing for his colleague to join him as he continued down the seemingly endless corridor. "And what exactly has the patient been saying?"

"Same old, same old I guess." Hoffmann answered, keeping up with Doctor Wright as he picked up the pace. "Only this time she's demanding we fetch in the cops."

"The police?" Wright asked, turning to Hoffmann.

"Yeah." He nodded. "Asked for you, and also told us she wanted the police. Said she'd already asked you time and time again to call them."

"Yes, she did." Wright's turn to nod. "I was hoping it was just a passing phase. Something she'd hopefully forget about. Move on, you know?"

"Come on Jacob." Hoffmann laughed. "In all her time here has she ever let anything lie?"

"No, I see your point." Doctor Wright smiled as they approached their destination, digging the patient's file from under his arm and passing a drenched copy of the Chicago Tribune to his colleague, slowing as they came to a stop outside the door of Counselling Room A. "I'll go in, you set the video recording."

"Fair enough." Hoffmann nodded in agreement. "Think we're gonna need anything else?"

"No, no." Doctor Wright whispered. "I've never known her become violent. Aggressive maybe, but never violent. Now she wouldn't talk to you?"

"Nope." Hoffmann shook his head. "Asked for you, and you only. Besides the police I mean."

"Okay. Here we go then."

Lifting his ID cars once more, Doctor Wright again ran it through a cars reader placed by the door to the counselling room, the magnetic strip instantly unlocking the door as he stepped inside, Doctor Hoffmann entering the observation room next door. Stepping into the sterile room, Doctor Wright looked into the mirrored wall to his left before turning and greeting the woman sat at the cold, plastic table. Attractive and small in height, the blonde haired woman before him lifted her tired face, an anxiety etched across every pore as she allowed herself the tiniest of smiles and sat back.

"It's about time." She snapped.

"Karen, please..." Doctor Wright started, cut short as the woman interjected.

"Don't 'Karen' me, either." She spat. "We've known each other too long doctor."

"Look..." He tried again, gently pulling a chair from beneath the table and slowly sitting opposite. "Karen... What's wrong? From what I hear you've been giving my team quite the workout."

"Their fault, not mine." She shook her head, the expression on her face indicating her lack of interest. "If they did as I asked..."

"And what if they did as everybody asked?" Doctor Wright's turn to interrupt. "Hmm? You need to understand that these people are here for you, but they do not work for you Karen. They will act in your best interests. Always. Whether you think that's the case or not."

"Bullshit." She leaned forward, elbows on the surface of the flimsy plastic table.

"What's this all about Karen?" He asked, calmly sitting back and removing his spectacles, reaching into the inside pocket of his tweed jacket and withdrawing a soft cloth, beginning to clean the spectacles as he prepared to hear her out.

"Did you contact the police?" Karen's eyes grew as she asked, her body tensing as she leaned forward a touch more. "That was what I asked you to do. All I asked you to do. Did you do it?"

"Karen..."

Her ears pricked up in anticipation.

"The police have more important things to deal with. Believe it or not, there is a world outside of these four walls."

"Fuck!" She hissed, throwing herself backwards in her chair, her head arched back as she examined the suspended ceiling of Counselling Room A.

"I'm going to speak frankly, if I may Karen." Doctor Wright returned the cloth to his jacket pocket and replaced the spectacles along the bridge of his nose. "I went out on a limb to have you transferred over here. Do you know how many people I had to convince that you were ready to be considered for this facility?"

"I know..." Karen sighed, still surveying the ceiling.

"Then there are the visits." Wright proceeded as he gently leaned forward, hands together, fingers entwined as he rested on the table. "We moved you closer to your son, closer to your friends, and this is what we get? If the governors get wind of tonight, they'll not only insist on sending you back to Green Acre, but they'll also begin to question my judgment, my professional opinion as it were, and I simply won't have that."

"I'm grateful." She answered, an intensity in her voice. "Seriously I am."

"I should think so." Doctor Wright nodded. "When did you enter the system? 1990? It's been hard for you, I know that. First they take your son, your life, then they ship you off to Rhode Island. That was basically solitary confinement. I understand you finally managed to see your son last week. How long had it been?"

"Six years." Karen answered. "But don't you see? This is why I need you to call the police. What he told me. I need to speak to them. He begged me not to but I must!"

"You mean about the doll?" Wright asked. "The doll that allegedly came after your son? Not just once but twice?"

"Yes." She answered, composing herself as she began to sense the doctor's disbelief.

"The doll that is still apparently sat in a factory in downtown Chicago?" Wright grabbed Karen's file and began to browse.

"Yes!"

"The doll that you and your son still, to this day, claim was possessed by the soul of notorious serial killer Charles Lee Ray?" The doctor rubbed his eyes, despair as he found the conversation beginning to take a sudden and all too familiar turn.

"Yes." Karen again answered, continuing before she could be interrupted. "This is why we need the police. They need to go down there, check the place out. It's a long shot, but from what Andy told me there's a chance the doll is still there, that it's not dead. Don't you see?"

"I think so." Doctor Wright flicked through the file, eyes narrowing as he peered through his bifocals and lifted a page, reading from it as he read. "The doll can only be killed by destroying the heart. That's what you mean right?"

"Yes." Karen answered. "Now can you please call them? I know you think I'm crazy, but please."

"Let's imagine I do." He dropped the paper and leaned back in his chair, stretching as he did so. "I tell them to check out a factory, long since closed, and investigate the remains of a killer doll that is still possibly trapped in there, alive and breathing. What do you imagine their response will be?"

"I..." Karen stuttered. "I don't know..."

"They'd laugh at us Karen." Doctor Wright sat forward, hands together. "Even if we managed to persuade them, they'd then have to obtain a search warrant. To do that I imagine they'd need to have good reason. Now do you seriously think they'd have sufficient reason to apply for a warrant? What would they have? Other than the word of somebody currently residing in a mental facility."

"There's not just me." Karen angrily snarled back. "What about Mike?"

"Ah yes. Mike Norris." Doctor Wright ran his eyes over the file once again. "A discredited, former police officer. If you ask me, Mr Norris is incredibly fortunate not to be residing here alongside you."

Giving a long, drawn out sigh, Karen's voice dropped to a quiet murmur as she spoke.

"I understand." She nodded, a tear rolling over her cheek. "It sounds ridiculous. I wouldn't believe me either. But if what my son told me is indeed correct, then that doll is still in that factory and it needs destroying."

"Karen..." Doctor Wright started, his voice disappearing as Karen spoke over him.

"Because if the wrong person gets their hands on that thing, then we have it all over again."

"Karen, I understand, believe me." The doctor sympathized, palms flat on the table as he spoke slowly and clearly. "I'm sure this all seems incredibly real. To you... But Charles Lee Ray is dead. He has been since 1988."

"REAL?" Karen shot to her feet, the chair beneath her now skidding out and back across the floor, clattering into the wall behind as she slammed her palms on the surface of the table and leaned across to her visitor, her voice no more than a whisper, a hiss tinged with all manner of emotions.

"Let me tell you something, you son of a bitch! I'm pretty sure this would seem pretty fucking real to you too. If you'd seen the things I'd seen, heard the things I'd heard, the words that... That thing spouted. The evil in its words. It still gives me nightmares to this very day."

"And what does the doll say Karen?" Doctor Wright asked, leaning in, their noses almost touching as Karen's lip began to tremble, her voice breaking as she sank to the floor and sobbed, the words almost incoherent.

"It said..." Karen wept, taking a deep breath before mustering the courage to continue.

"It said 'give me the boy and I'll let you live'!"


	22. Chapter 4-1

**Chapter 4.1**

**November 14th 1996**

Narrowing her eyes and lifting her arm Tiffany reached forward and yanked on the sun visor of the Plymouth, quickly shielding herself from the piercing rays as she swung the car away from the mid afternoon traffic and into the litter strewn parking area of Gorman's Bar. The gravel parting beneath the thick, heavy duty tyres, Tiffany cast her eyes from left to right and noticed the rows of motorcycles. Harleys, Yamahas, Nortons and various other classics lined either side of the parking lot, the angle at which they sat seeming to invite the faintest breeze, the domino effect easily imagined as Tiffany came to a stop. Killing the engine and turning her attention to the rear view mirror, she reached into her bag, perched on the passenger seat, and removed her lipstick. Applying only the faintest of touches she admired her reflection and allowed a smile to gather, jerking suddenly as one of the bars windows suddenly exploded before her, the hood of the car showered in shards of broken glass as the offending item, a bar stool no less, hit the floor of the parking lot and splintered into pieces. Thick wooden chunks fracturing and finding themselves catapulted in a myriad of directions. Noise spilled from within the bar. A small crowd of revellers no doubt urging the ongoing fight along as the battered, beaten and leather clad figure of a biker suddenly appeared, the last punch knocking the final gust of wind from his sails as he lay face down, the window frame supporting him beneath his arm pits as, with one final flicker of energy, he curled his lips together and spat. As his blood splattered on the gravel of the parking lot, the biker turned in Tiffany's direction, his greasy shoulder length hair soaked with either sweat or beer and gave a toothless, drunken grin before he found himself jerked violently from the window and back into the chaos, a roar of delight as the patrons of Gorman's witnessed one of two things. Either a continuation of the assault, or an end to the hostilities as the two bikers embraced and quickly called an end to their confrontation, the beers on ice now paid for by the losing participant. Hard to believe, but Tiffany had witnessed it first hand and it was an act that to this day still left her ever so bemused. Twisting the bottom of the lipstick, the deep red stick of wax retreating back into its housing, Tiffany returned it to her bag and snapped the clasp shut before withdrawing the keys from the cars ignition and grabbing the lever, the heavy door swinging open as she swung her legs over the soft leather of the drivers seat and stepped into the cool afternoon breeze that Chicago had to offer. Feeling the glass crunch beneath her feet, Tiffany shook her head in disbelief and walked to the front of the vehicle, snapping and cracking underfoot as her heels made short work of the glass. Then, with her bag held carefully in one hand, she bent over the hood of the Plymouth and swept the remnants of what was previously a pretty solid window to the floor, the paint of the car only barely scratched as she inspected the damage with a sigh. Recalling the events of the previous evening her eyes dropped to the chrome fender. Dented, mangled and twisted out of shape the once gleaming fixture now hung loose. Not completely free of the Plymouths chassis, the craftsmanship of the mid-fifties had seen to that. But loose. Wobbling slightly as Tiffany sunk to a squatting position and gripped the fender, her only regret being that she had allowed arguably her most prized possession to be damaged, even slightly, in the execution of a well laid plan. Still, it was in a much better condition than Sarah Pirce and her car, which wasn't hard. Turning her attention to the bar stool, laying in several pieces across the parking lot floor, Tiffany rested her bag on the cars hood and approached the biggest piece, the carcass laying tattered and broken as she dropped to her knees and grabbed it with both hands, the denim of her jeans providing just enough protection against the smaller fragments of glass.

"Some good you're going to be." She said, raising the shattered furniture and running her eyes over it, the voice from the doorway of the bar suddenly catching her unaware.

"Valentine!" The voice boomed, Tiffany turning on her knees in shock as she dropped the bar stool and stood. Standing in the doorway, arms folded and with a rag slung over one olive skinned shoulder, the tattooed figure of Selena Thomas awaited. The jet black locks of hair held up in a ponytail revealing a scar running from the underside of her left ear and downwards, stopping at the collar bone as the same thought travelled through Tiffany's mind once more. That thought being to question the acquisition of said scar or not. Deciding against it, as always, Tiffany strode towards the parked up Plymouth and grabbed her bag from the hood, Selena's eyes following her every step. "Where the fuck you been? You seen how busy we are?"

Turning and surveying the plethora of cars and motorcycles, Tiffany gave an apologetic look as she approached Selena and squeezed herself through the doorway of Gorman's bar, the two women's faces inches from each other as they passed, a wry smile emerging from Tiffany's lips.

"Sorry boss." She whispered, pausing only slightly as she stepped inside, the rowdy atmosphere fully engulfing her as the jukebox worked overtime, the Thin Lzzy number a soundtrack to all manner of debauchery as the regular clientele of Gorman's Bar reveled along in the background. Booth after booth to Tiffany's left ran the length of the bare, red brick wall, the now shattered window taking pride of place at the very end, the gaping hole resting waist height beyond the far booth. The tattered leather of the once proud seating bore the marks of decades of abuse, each booths table featuring heavily carved names and images, some explicit, some amusing, all misspelt. In the centre of the enormous establishment sat the bar. Not that it was visible. The crowds of bodies, men, women and staff creating a wall of chaotic enjoyment as voice after voice yelled out across the heaving floor. Turning her head to scan for any familiar faces, Tiffany's eyes fell on the stairs gracing the wall to her right, one set leading up, the other down, and towards the basement. As usual they were manned by the short, stocky frame of Lenny, Gorman's resident 'security advisor'. Hands folded across his stomach, eyes peering from behind the thin, narrow shades, Lenny allowed himself to browse the crowd, his sixth sense for trouble impeccable as ever as he quickly reached out and stopped a tattooed biker by his arm, the conversation that followed ending as quickly as it began as Lenny explained the house rules regarding what went on upstairs. Glancing up to the makeshift gantry above the bar, Tiffany strained her eyes. The long row of thrown together rooms stood side by side. Almost on top of each other as every now and then a door would open, the girl inside offering one last smile and a sickly wave of farewell to her latest customer before retreating back into the darkness and pressing a switch, the window of the room illuminated in a candy red glow, the signal to the bar floor loud and clear. Send up the next one. Although well monitored and kept safe, this was no life for the young girls kept within. Seemingly happy as they welcomed the next man, the smiles were simply painted on. The stark, depressing reality of life buried deep beneath the layer of foundation and blusher. Right now as she surveyed the poorly built rooms, the cobbled together accommodation looking on the verge of collapse, Tiffany could see each and every window blacked out. Every door closed, but never locked as Selena Thomas's girls worked overtime. Through the day, through the night and more often than not into the morning as patrons of Gorman's Bar would ask the bar staff about the 'specials' on offer that day, Selena instantly picking up the conversation and taking it from there. Like in any business there were the regulars, some of which Tiffany had gotten to know as they passed their time at the bar. Ordering a beer, taking their place in the queue, then regaling Tiffany and whoever else happened to be serving with tales of their lives. Funny, sad, some straight up embarrassing, it was these imperfections that allowed her to see past the sleazy behavior and appreciate the human behind it. Fair enough they were far from the ideal role model that Tiffany believed men should set out to be, but they treated Selena's girls with the utmost respect. Their attitude to it all was that they'd rather the girl be in there with them, than some stranger that could turn at any moment. They also happened to tip. Little did Selena know. But they tipped as much as they could, whenever they could. Tiffany came to the conclusion a long time ago that these were good people. They just happened to have made some very bad decisions. At the other end of the scale however, were inevitably the first time callers. Sheepishly asking after downing enough Dutch courage. In the past six months Tiffany had come to realise these were the ones to watch for. That nine times out of ten any trouble could be attributed to the idiots drinking enough alcohol to enquire about having a good time, only to find that said alcohol had stripped them of the ability to have anything but. Usually when this happened, the result would be anger, directed at whichever pool girl just happened to find herself in the middle of the embarrassing situation. Luckily enough the girls had a panic button, which meant things never got too out of hand. In her short amount of time working the bar at Gorman's Tiffany had once seen a black eye, but that was as far as it got. Lenny was on the scene in seconds, a crowd of whichever biker gang had happened to be in that day backing him up as the perpetrator swiftly had his ass handed to him in the parking lot. His face never gracing the establishment again. Whether that was his decision or genuinely couldn't be helped was anybody's guess.

"Come on Valentine!" Selena's voice barked again, jerking Tiffany from her thoughts as the Hispanic snarl came from behind, Selena noticing Tiffany's attention trained on the upper floor of the bar as she leaned in with a whisper. "Say the word honey. I could still use a girl like you."

"I think I'll pass." Her reply was short and sweet, the very thought turning her stomach as she began to make her way through the crowd and towards the payphone, prime location at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the gantry. Reaching the phone and grabbing the White Pages stowed on the shelf beneath Tiffany flipped open the book and started flicking through the pages, soon enough coming to a stop as she reached the page she required. Running her finger down the list of names she soon came to a stop. Before her, seven identical listings sat one stacked on top of the other, each one giving the name and address for 'S. Pirce', the one at the very top crossed out as Tiffany retrieved a pen from her handbag and removed the tip, carefully drawing a line through the second name, the listing now matching the one above.

"Two down, five to go." She whispered to herself as she returned the pen to her bag and snapped the White Pages closed before placing it back on the shelf. Turning to begin her journey to the bar, she was surprised to find Selena once again in her way, arms folded and a scornful look fully etched across her face. Hands up in an gesture of apology Tiffany squeezed past and made her way to the bar, Selena hot on her heels as the two girls reached their destination almost at once.

"It would be better money than this." Selena sympathised as Tiffany threw her bag beneath the bar and grabbed an apron, orders already flying her way as she grabbed a handful of bottles from the cooler and snapped the tops off before slamming them on the bar and taking the money.

"That wouldn't be hard would it?" She said, turning to Selena, another order incoming as she grabbed a pair of shot glasses and reached for one of the many bottles gracing the shelf behind her, quickly filling the glasses and serving whichever customer had just thrust money in her face.

"You knew the rules." Selena replied as she grabbed the rag from her shoulder. "I help you, you help me. That was the agreement. A fucking good one for you I might add."

"You think?" Tiffany laughed.

"Hey, you watch your fucking mouth Valentine. I've been fucking good to you!"

"I know. I didn't mean..."

"Everything you have right now is because of how nice I've been to you." Selena snapped, interrupting Tiffany. "Accommodation, ID, new name..."

"Which it would be nice if you'd use from time to time." Tiffany's turn to interrupt.

"Whatever! Just don't give me the hard up attitude." Selena fired back, a venom in her tone. "If it weren't for me where would you be?

"…"

"I'll tell you where. Either locked up or fucking dead. Which was what I half expected last night. Where the fuck did you go? 2am is a damned funny time to be making social calls."

"Just an errand I had to run." Tiffany replied, lying nonchalantly.

"At 2am?" Selena quizzed her, astounded. "You wanna be careful out there."

"Oh yeah?" Tiffany asked, puzzled as she reached into the cooler for another handful of beers. "Why's that?"

"Let me guess. You don't watch the news? Now why doesn't that surprise me?" Selena laughed. "There's a fucking killer out there girl!"

"I didn't know you cared." Tiffany said, rolling her eyes as she handed the beers over. "You're like a boss and mother, all rolled into one."

"You just remember what I said Valentine." Selena grabbed a tray from the end of the bar, ready for heading back into the heaving throng of people. "And don't you be bringing any trouble back here. My place, my rules. You understand?"

Like it or not Tiffany had to agree as she took another order, the swarm of people crowded round the bar hollering and pushing money in the faces of each and every member of staff. Tiffany had never seen the place this busy before, packed from wall to wall with faces both new and familiar, the patrons all behaving for the time being as the jukebox kicked up some Stevie Ray Vaughn and whipped a large part of the crowd into a frenzy.

Half an hour and one incredible effort later the bar began to clear, the customers thinning as they returned to their booths and, luckily enough, some of the lights shone from the gantry above Lenny wasting no time and sending the next paying customer up, the two men passing on the staircase and exchanging smirks, the odd joke about warming the girl up for the next lucky guy. Although seemingly heartless in the manner he conducted himself, Lenny found it hard to participate in the revolving door policy of Selena's. Seeing one man march back towards the bar and another heading straight up the stairs didn't sit right with him and he was often caught and berated for giving the girls just a brief respite, Selena's voice cutting him down with threats of unemployment should it happen again. It was in this brief moment as the two men exchanged places, Lenny giving the interaction a shake of the head, that the doors of Gorman's bars were practically thrown from their hinges, the ambient hum of the customers disturbed by the explosion as Chicago Police Departments finest filtered in without warning, the clientele of Gorman's suddenly faced with two options. Should they stay, or should they go? Not being the most respectful people the city of Chicago had to offer, it didn't surprise Tiffany one bit that the majority of customers reacted quickly. The screech of hundreds chairs on the filthy wooden floor grating as they stood as one and surged to the fire escape out back the officers giving chase as one by one engines fired up in the smaller, less conspicuous parking lot hidden round the back of the building. The people that remained now found their attention turned on the front doors, heavily damaged from the dramatic entry as the police continued to charge in, flanking either side of the huge bar area, one small team snaking past Lenny and upstairs towards the gantry as the commanding officer finally entered the building and hollered to what remained of his audience.

"Nobody move." His voice carried across the now silent bar, all six feet plus of his lean figure continuing to stroll and observe the small crowd before him and the team of officers now stationery in their assumed positions.

"What the fuck?" Selena approached him, a solitary arm flung in the direction of the front door now hanging from its hinge. "Have you seen my door?"

"Ma'am, please." The officer replied, palms held out in a calming gesture as Selena batted them away.

"Don't you fucking ma'am me." She spat, searching his protective clothing for a name badge and finding the name Jameson adorning the pocket adorning the officer's left breast. "Who's going to pay for my fucking door Officer Jameson?"

"I appreciate your concern." The Jameson started, his efforts once again proving futile.

"Appreciate my concern?" Selena continued. "Next time, try turning the handle. It's a lot fucking easier."

"Sir!" The voice came from above, the row of Jameson's underlings lining the gantry in their riot gear as everybody turned their attention to the officer.

"What is it Franks?" Jameson replied.

"We got girls up here." The officer Franks said, indicating over his shoulder with a curled fist and an extended thumb, a general snigger from the remaining crowd of customers.

"So what?" Selena shrugged her shoulders as the superior's face turned to her. "I'm not allowed to let people take a nap?"

"Anything else?" Jameson hollered back up to the gantry, his eyes not once leaving Selena, who in turn could do nothing but bite her tongue and stare out the floor.

"Yes sir," Franks' response was immediate. "We've got men too."

Another roar of laughter erupted, the men and women still sat enjoying their beers and the impromptu cabaret as Officer Franks felt his face grow red in embarrassment.

"My, my." Jameson smiled, his face leaving Selena and taking in the staff behind the bar before spinning on the spot and surveying the remaining customers of Gorman's Bar. A silence filled the air as the tension grew, the only noise coming from the rooms above as men and women hurriedly left the rooms, only to end up half naked on the gantry above Tiffany and her fellow bar workers.

"You are all," Jameson beamed as he paused, arms wide as he graced his audience. "Under arrest."

It had been a long day. Probably one of the longest Tiffany had been forced to endure in years, the clock refusing to tick by as she willed time on. After the ride down from Gorman's, the women segregated from the men, Selena Thomas kept away from everybody else, she figured they must have taken statements from over a hundred people. Everybody but Tiffany and some random biker, too inebriated to stand up, let alone talk as he slept in the chair beside Tiffany. She tried to remain positive. Remain calm and keep a clear head. After all, she had gone to great lengths to ensure any immediate recognition was out of the question. She had to stifle laughter as she let her hands wander to her hair, the dark brown locks falling over her shoulders as she twirled a few strands around her index finger and examined it more thoroughly as the well built, leather clad wrecking ball of a man slept off the booze in the chair next to her. Although she had never seen so much as an article in the local paper, she was pretty sure that the police would have some interest in her following the events in Mount Carroll. Mrs Appleby's house exploding and burning the old goat alive as she stood, the frail old witch she had grown into, and watched Tiffany leave. Then there was the small matter of Will Hunter. The irony of his situation had never ceased to amaze Tiffany. Visiting her with ambition to avenge his recently deceased colleague, Rita Hernandez, he had unwittingly become the master of his own demise, dispatched rather effortlessly by the aforementioned Mrs Appleby. Tiffany could see her now. Her face contorted in rage, as she lay her cards on the table, her plans for both her and Tiffany getting more disturbing by the second. It had been over two years since that fateful evening and Tiffany had forgotten not one tiny little detail. The rain lashing at the window despite the heat of the summer upon them. The garden left half pruned, half overgrown as the two women raced to confront their mystery caller. Everything had seemed so much simpler then. She could actually pin point that moment, the arrival of Jack Fuller and his precious research, as the exact moment her life once again nose dived into the pits of despair. Even now she still had the same little matter nagging her, the same question rearing its ugly head. Just who was Jack Fuller's mystery client? The person actually paying him to investigate Chucky, not just at the time, but from the beginning. 1988 onwards. She had her ideas, in fact she was certain, but during the last two years she'd had very little opportunity to delve into her queries. The events of June 1994 demanding she constantly keep moving, never staying in the same place and only working as and when opportunity provided itself, keeping a low profile until a time she deemed it safe enough to return to Chicago under the cover of night. She could remember that night pretty vividly also. All she had known of Selena following their time together at Logan was the few areas of Chicago's south side she had the odd friend and acquaintance in. So logic dictated that she start looking in those places. It hadn't taken long. Following their last conversation on the way out of Logan Tiffany knew the kind of business Selena was into and crawled the kerbs, not just finding a girl that knew Selena, but, as luck would have it, finding a girl that actually worked for her. Following a brief chat, a meeting was hastily arranged and within a day Tiffany had been summoned to an abandoned warehouse three blocks west of Gorman's. She could see it now. The crumbling brickwork almost lost beneath years of illegible graffiti and gang tags, the fire damaged roof letting the rain water cascade all around as she opened the fire exit door and stepped into the darkness, not a soul as Tiffany let the door close with a deafening bang. Looking round, the sight of rats had made her stomach turn slightly as they scarpered in different directions, the sound of the door echoing across the empty structure. Taking a few steps, her eyes slowly scanning the area around her, eyes slowly wandering left to right, she had proceeded further into the warehouse, fearing the worst as a noise suddenly erupted from the darkness, the silence broken as Tiffany spun on her heels. Emerging from the shadows of the warehouse, cigarette in hand, Selena Thomas's face had carried a look Tiffany could only describe as a smug excitement. Exhaling, a cloud of second and smoke, Selena's eyes never left her former inmate as she examined her from top to bottom. The tattered clothes, the sopping wet hair, the look of desperation. Tiffany needed her. That was a fact, no doubts about it. How much? Selena intended to find out.

"Well, well, well." Said Selena, quickly taking another drag from her cigarette. "Look what the cat dragged in... Literally by the looks of you."

A silence as Tiffany raised her hand, partly trembling from the cold, also from the fear now anxiety now rippling through her spine, and swept her hair from her face, the drenched locks of blonde until now obscuring her view.

"You look like shit Valentine." Selena allowed her eyes to drop, quickly raising them again as she let loose another cloud of nicotine infused.

"Yeah..." Tiffany stammered, the moment getting to her as she struggled to find the words, suddenly giving a small giggle as she spoke. "I feel it."

"So what?" Selena asked, the rain pouring in through the battered structure around them, cascading from the broken tiles above as a clap of thunder exploded above.

"Well..." Tiffany stuttered again.

"Let me guess." Selena took one final drag before dropping her burned out butt to the floor, lifting a boot and extinguishing the remaining ashes."Rehab program didn't work out?"

"It was doing..." Tiffany tried to explain.

"But?" Selena asked, prompting a response.

"Look I need help. You said, you remember? When we were dropped off... After Logan."

"Woah, woah..." Selena held her hands up, Tiffany stopping as quickly as she had begun. "What exactly did I say?"

"That if I ever made a break. Needed help. You could help me. Give me work."

"I said that?" Selena feigned confusion.

"Yes!" Tiffany cried.

"So what happened exactly? You make a break for it?" Selena asked.

"Something like that."

"Details." Selena smiled, her hand reaching into the pocket of her jeans and pulling free a packet, removing a lone cigarette as she flicked the flint of her lighter and watched the tip ignite in a warm glow.

And so began Tiffany's epic tale. Selena demanding to know the details, not a thing left out as she laughed and clapped throughout, a warped and sadistic pleasure in every question, every reaction. Keeping her wits about her, Tiffany decided it best that some details were omitted. Obviously the less she mentioned killer dolls, murderous old women and elaborate plans to inhabit her 'youthful if impure body', the better. Instead she had simply told Selena of the Rita Hernandez incident, the visit from Will Hunter and his subsequent disappearance and finally ended with a dramatic, if mainly concocted, story of her escape from Mount Carroll and the resulting incineration of the aforementioned Mrs. Appleby. Needless to Say Selena was hooked from beginning to end, pulling a crate from one of the many piles of rubble and taking a seat as she listened intently. The delight she seemed to garner from the pain and misery of others actually left Tiffany feeling a little disturbed and unsettled as Selena finally finished laughing and gave a cheerful sigh. Her previously cold exterior now giving way to a warm smile and a friendlier tone of voice.

"Now that is some story Valentine." Selena laughed as she lit up another smoke, offering one to Tiffany as she calmly took one and accepted a light.

"Tell me about it." Tiffany drew a lungful of smoke. "But as you can see... This leaves me in quite a predicament."

"No kidding Valentine, it's a fucking miracle they didn't pick you up already." Selena stood, the warehouse around them echoing as she began to pace, the clunk of her boots on the concrete floor. "You never got picked up once? No close calls?"

"Like I said," Tiffany began, another drag from her cigarette. "I've kept moving. Stayed quiet."

"And where are you stopping now?" Selena asked.

"Well that's where I need help." Tiffany knew the time was upon her. Would Selena help her? The signs were good. But only time would tell.

"You need somewhere?" Selena asked once more, Tiffany giving a silent nod of her head. "Shit Valentine I don't know what to say."

"It's okay." Resignation in her voice as she dropped her half smoked cigarette to the floor and extinguished it. "Thanks for nothing."

"Hey." Selena's hand shot out, grabbing Tiffany by the forearm as she began to march past. Tiffany stopped dead in her tracks, snapping her head to focus on her former friend. "I got a room. Hell, I even got a job if you want it. Straight up too. Nothing dangerous either."

"Really?" Tiffany couldn't believe her luck. Jackpot.

"Well, nothing too dangerous to be exact." Selena laughed. "But if you can keep pulling the beers and pouring the shots then the regulars shouldn't give you any trouble."

"Bar work?" Tiffany asked.

"That not good enough?" Selena's thick accent suddenly kicked up a gear as she seemed taken aback at Tiffany's reaction.

"No, no..." Tiffany stammered once more. "It's perfect."

"Because I could offer you alternative employment." This was what Tiffany had been afraid of. Exactly the kind of thing she knew she couldn't do. "Maybe I let you slip between the sheets with a few of my friends. Really earn your keep. That sound better?"

"Hell no." Tiffany pleaded. "I didn't mean anything by it, I was just surprised. I never expected anything like this. Thank you, I mean it."

"Well don't thank me just yet." Selena scolded her, her attitude turning like a switch as she reached into her back pocket and retrieved a card, handing it to Tiffany. "You fuck me about, you don't pull your weight, you're out."

Taking the card, Tiffany examined it before pushing it into the pocket of her leather jacket. The address of the bar wasn't far at all.

"I really do appreciate this." Tiffany beamed once more. "I don't mean to push but, you said there was a room?"

"Yeah," Selena replied, zipping up her coat as she prepared to leave. "Don't get too excited though. Unless you got a thing for cellar's beneath twenty four hour drinking establishments, then the chances are you're in for one hell of a fucking disappointment."

"It sounds great to me." Tiffany could barely conceal her relief as she ran her fingers through her hair, still soaking wet as she felt a shiver across her shoulders once more.

"Oh, and call me a little paranoid." Selena began. "But I don't want you attracting any unwanted attention. You understand?"

Tiffany nodded.

"I know it's been a while, but the chances are the Chicago P.D still have their eye out for you. From this moment on, Tiffany Valentine doesn't exist. You understand?"

"I don't think I..." Tiffany started.

"My guy will sort you some new papers." Selena interrupted. "Identification. Driving license, passport, he'll even do you a fucking library card."

"Jesus Selena, that would be great." Tiffany couldn't believe her luck.

"Don't get all mushy on me just yet." Selena snapped as she reached the warehouse door, puling it open and allowing the moonlight to filter in through the opening. "This kind of thing takes time. Time and money. You think I'm paying you a dime, then you must be crazy. You get the room, the job and the fake papers. For that, you work for me. Pay it off that way."

Tiffany nodded.

"I'm also thinking we need to do something about your fucking hair." Selena added. "It looks like shit. Not to mention the fact that any record you have will have you down as a blonde."

"Sure." Tiffany nodded frivolously. "Seems more than fair to me."

"Well in that case, go get your things." Selena held the door open, allowing Tiffany to exit the warehouse before her. "And Valentine..."

She stopped and turned back to face Selena, the rain hammering down and beginning to soak her through all over again.

"You behave yourself. You hear me?"

And up until now she had. But of course, up until now she'd been able to keep herself to herself. Plot her next move. Pin point a strategy and a time to execute her well laid plan, choosing this coming week to move quickly, unleash hell across Chicago and hopefully cause the police enough trouble to keep them busy whilst she evaded detection and carried her plan through to the very end. It was at this point as she sat in the waiting room of Chicago Police Department, waiting to give a testimony that she realised the irony of it all. This was nothing other than an occupational hazard though. A couple of hiccups like this were to be expected. It was natural. She had nothing to fear. Just stick to the story and she'd be fine. They'd stuck with the name Tiffany, as people tended to respond to their own name naturally, no bedding in period as people constantly call you by your new name only to go ignored as it still hasn't sunk in that you are the person being called upon. Yes indeed, she was to spin the police a story about being Tiffany Hendricks from New Jersey. Working at Gorman's as she travelled around the country, the bar work basically a means to end, financing a bus ticket to her next port of call. Her head had began to pound, going over the story in her head, recycling the same lines over and over as the drunken biker beside her began to stir, snapping Tiffany from her train of thought and presenting a more immediate problem. The biker seemed to be able to take it no more, an ever growing impatience in his voice as he examined his surroundings and growled at the officer behind the desk, demanding information and, of course, his phone call. The negative, but polite response was met with disdain, a barrage of insults as the biker stood, his gargantuan frame an imposing figure as he ran his hands through his long, long greasy hair and once again demanded his phone call, two more officers behind the desk suddenly alerted to the hostility of the waiting room. Once again the young officer sat behind the desk remained calm. Explained the situation, that things took time, and even offered the biker a coffee to help him sober up. This served only to engage the man even more. The very assumption that he may be intoxicated not going down well at all. Placing the sole of a dirty, oversized boot on the back of the chair in front of him, the biker kicked, the plastic seat skidding across the almost deserted waiting room and slamming into the reception desk with a loud crack. As though a touch paper had been lit, Tiffany lifted her head and observed two officers behind the desk immediately stand, night sticks drawn, and make their way to the secure door of the office. The biker noticed this too, seemingly oblivious to Tiffany's presence as he watched the officers through a haze of alcohol induced anger. Approaching the biker, the two officers appealed for him to calm down, another warning ignored as he gritted his teeth and swore at them once more, taking a step forward and aiming a curled fist in their general direction. The officers ducked as one, the bikers swing hitting nothing but fresh air as the two men charged, catching the biker off balance as they wrestled him to the ground, the trio of men landing almost on top of Tiffany as she leapt from her seat, arms and legs a blur in the ensuing melee. Seats flew everywhere as the men landed, the biker by no means finished as he swung again, a fist connecting with one of the officers, his legs almost buckling as he fought to remain conscious. Before Tiffany knew what was happening, the door behind her burst open, more officers arriving as they raced past and towards the drama unfolding. As a team, the officers now worked to restrain the brute of a man they had before them. Night sticks arced through the air as ribs cracked under force, the man letting out a roar of pain as he finally sunk to his knees, another officer taking advantage of the situation and unleashing a canister of pepper spray into the biker's eyes as he hollered again. Police brutality. That his lawyers would love be hearing about this. Looking out across the waiting room as the officers now lifted the man and carried him towards a free cell, Tiffany took in the scene of broken chairs, tables and magazines strewn across the floor. A sigh had just started to leave her tired and weary lips as the door behind her gently opened once more, the friendlier tone of Officer Lawrence Jameson breaking the silence that now fell upon the waiting room.

"Miss Hendricks," He stood to one side and gestured through the doorway with an outstretched arm, a smile hanging from ear to ear. "Shall we?"

Two hours. Two fucking hours they had kept her locked in that room. No charge, just questions. Who was she? Where was she from? What was her business in Chicago? How long had she worked at Gorman's? How could she not have any idea of the illegal activities taking place in the thrown together rooms just meters above her head? Naturally Tiffany had her answers. Reeling them off efficiently as she lumbered from one lie to another. Hell, they may as well have been written on a script. And now as she returned to Gorman's, the bar completely empty, the silence eerily uncomfortable, all Tiffany wanted to do was sleep as she flicked on the lights and headed to the bar. Stooping and grabbing a bottle of tequila, Tiffany turned and let her eyes wander. The busted door, the shattered window. The cold of the misty November night had long since started to seep into the property, a chill making Tiffany shudder as she twisted the lid from the bottle and took a mouthful of the tequila. She considered returning the bottle to the shelf. What would Selena say? But fuck it. She'd done her bit. Kept quiet and given Selena a glowing reference. Those rooms upstairs? Staff quarters. Was it Selena's fault that her staff chose to carry on with whichever stray men they came across? As for the mention of any drugs. How on earth was that Selena's fault? She stood to lose a lot of good girls through this, and a hell of a lot of business, but Selena knew this day would come. It wasn't ideal, but it was inevitable. Anybody could see that. Keeping her trembling hand wrapped around the neck of the bottle of tequila, Tiffany began to move. From behind the bar and across the heavily soiled floor of Gorman's bar, she reached the stairs and headed down, the basement awaiting her as she flicked off the lights and headed into the darkness. The door to her room, her own private space, lay no more than a matter of feet away as she reached out a hand and fumbled along the wall, eventually feeling the door handle. Thrusting her hand into her pocket, Tiffany grabbed her key and slid it into the lock, twisting it as the door quietly swung open, the darkness stretching on. Reaching around the frame of the door and hitting the light switch, the room was suddenly cast into a glow of light, the décor not to everybody's taste, but suiting Tiffany down to the ground.

"Home, sweet home." She sighed as she lifted the bottle and took another hit of tequila, turning and pushing the door closed behind her. Crossing the floor, the dusty concrete scuffing beneath her heels, Tiffany grabbed the remote control and pointed it at her TV set, the screen firing up instantly. As she slumped to a sitting position on the end of her bed, bottle still clasped securely in her hand. Tiffany was just about to change the channel when she paused, the events on screen proving to be more entertaining than she could have possibly hoped. The assembled press conference bringing together the police and media for a special broadcast. As Tiffany sat, eyes fixed on the screen, she watched as a tall, portly police officer appeared from a doorway and approached a table, notes clutched to his chest and a look of grave concern etched on his face. By the looks of it, he was of Caribbean or African descent, his voice a well to do air about it as he thanked the media for joining him for this special announcement and casually wiped his brow before running his hand through his incredibly short hair and taking a seat. Whatever this was, it looked interesting.

The corridor stretching on before him, his assistant by his side, Captain Reginald Senior quickly strode on. The sooner this was over, the better. The closer the door became, the slower time seemed to pass. Each stride of his well polished shoes seeming to become smaller as the long, nicotine stained corridor, lined with pictures of the police officers of yesterday, became a marathon of a challenge, the contrast of the white and navy blue harsh on the eyes to say the least. As he walked, mind racing, his assistant handed him a handful of notes, the press conference ahead of him reduced to this. Thrown together notes, written by somebody with very little knowledge of what it was the police department were actually dealing with here.

"Is this all we have?" He asked, marching in unison as the young female assistant answered from behind her thickly rimmed spectacles.

"Yes sir." She replied.

"There's not much for me to go on here Sandra." Captain Senior replied, his voice stern.

"With all due respect Captain, there's not much for us to go on at all."

"I know." He said with a sigh. "I'll just be glad when this damn thing is over."

"Just be calm sir." Sandra answered as they approached the door to the media room. "Worst case scenario, you improvise. Wing it."

"Easy for you to say." He smiled as he reached out and opened the door, allowing Sandra to pass. He'd had very little rest today, which had thrown his preparation for this press conference into complete disarray, the phone constantly ringing as reporters, tabloids and news stations from across Chicago tried valiantly to acquire further information regarding the events of that morning, pushing and pushing for any inside information as the Captain demanded to know how his number had been obtained, his only option to unplug his office phone and allow the silence of his office to slowly comfort him as his brain raced. Now, as he strode though the door to the media room and stepped inside, he felt a wave of nausea wash over him. The heat of the lighting, the flashes from the dozens of cameras and the volume of various paparazzi crying out made him consider turning and marching straight back down the corridor. Question after question floated from the mob of journalists, Captain Senior ignoring each and everyone as he slowly stepped onto the small raised platform and approached the desk, microphones littering the surface, a glass of water looking more refreshing with every second that passed. Pulling out the chair buried beneath the navy blue throw hanging across the desk, Captain Senior proceeded to sit and make himself comfortable, the crowd before him gradually falling quiet and taking their seats in a staggered unison as the he took a drink of his water and waited for order to restore itself. As the last of the assembled media took their places, and a silence prevailed over the room full of people, Captain Senior lay his notes on the desk and clasped his hands together, his eyes wandering from left to right. Once satisfied that he had the full attention of his now seated audience he began to speak, the words struggling to come at first, but eventually breaking the silence as the cameras rolled.

"I'd like to start by thanking you all for coming," He began. "And also for your continued patience in what has proven to be an incredibly difficult day."

Another drink of water, his throat feeling drier than ever as the rows of journalists before him seemed to lean forward in anticipation, notepads and microphones at the ready.

"As you are no doubt aware, a couple of nights ago, a couple of my officers responded to a call from a member of the public regarding the sound of gunfire at a property in Cicero. Upon arrival the officers searched the scene and discovered a body. The victim, female, had been shot twice in the chest and once more in the head before being hung from a nearby tree."

Another drink.

"I think we all agree, this was an extremely shocking event. The victim was eventually identified and named as forty four year old Sarah Pirce. She left behind a loving husband and a sixteen year old son. Of course, you don't need me to tell you that this event has left them shattered and broken. Now we know the kind of area Cicero is. Gang violence is at an all time high, as is drug abuse and prostitution. We do however believe none of this to have had any bearing on Mrs Pirce's fate. A loving woman, with a good job and a healthy relationship with all around her, we see no reason for this attack to have happened, other than simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time. To put it to you simply, we have no motive. No witnesses. Nothing. Needless to say, a community is in shock that such a thing could happen. Naturally they want answers. Ouur investigation will continue."

The press were silent as the Captain paused to take another drink. He'd still not picked up the notes handed to him moments ago, choosing instead to shoot from the hip. Wing it, as it were. Swallowing, and hoping the gulp had not been as audible to his audience as it had been to himself, he placed his glass back on the desk and continued.

"Now we move on." He said, a tremble in his voice as his eyes surveyed the crowd, each and every one of them perched on the edge of their plastic, molded seats. "You probably all know about the disturbance that took place in the early hours of this morning over on the south side of Chicago. Two units were dispatched to investigate a call from a member of the public. Again, the sound of gunfire was reported. As the officers arrived on the scene, they were greeted by yet another sickening sight. Once again, the body of a female victim left lying in the street. Although all signs point to her car being run from the road, a collision of some force rendering her incapacitated, the cause of death was again ruled to be gunshot wounds. This time two in the chest, one in the neck and one final shot to the face."

Pausing once again the Captain looked up and fixed his eyes on the lense of a video camera, speaking as if somebody were on the other side of the glass.

"I would like to take this opportunity to ask the members of the public. Anybody with any information whatsoever, to come forward. Whatever you think you know, no matter how big or small. Even if you feel it to be irrelevant. Let us be the judges of that."

Suddenly hand shot out of the crowd. A microphone thrust toward the ceiling as an unidentified voice rang out of the tense silence of the media room.

"Do we have a name for the second victim?" The reporter asked, her question immediately bringing a murmur from the crowd. Hands still clasped together, Captain Senior took a deep breath and pursed his lips, nodding as he dropped the bombshell he knew would cause the crowd before him to surge forward as one.

"Yes ma'am." He took another breath. "Victim number two, was also called, Sarah Pirce."

That did it. His tongue had barely finished letting her name roll through his teeth before the entire lot of them were on their feet and charging the stage. Questions flying from every conceivable angle as the cameras snapped and flashed, camera men moved in for a better shot, the space around the small raised platform disappearing in a matter of seconds as the heaving throng of journalists pushed and pulled to get into a better position.

"Are you treating the murders as connected?" One voice yelled.

"Surely you're not putting this down as a coincidence." Another screamed to be heard.

"Do the two events follow any particular pattern?" A loud, prominent voice calmly spoke, not a shout, but his voice carrying as he locked eyes with the Captain. Raising his hands, waiting for the furor to die down, Captain Senior remained sat, eyes never leaving the journalist as he answered honestly.

"The only pattern we have is that the two women were executed in the order that they appear in the phone book. Other than that, we have nothing."

"So what about the next Sarah Pirce?" Asked another reporter, her microphone shoved in Captain Senior's face.

"It's only natural that any of the Sarah Pirce's, in the book or not, may want to talk to us. Maybe get some reassurances regarding their own safety. All I can do is tell them we are here. We've already tried contacting the remaining women in the phone book but have had very little success. So if anybody knows one of them, then we implore you to tell them to get in touch. My men are waiting and we have a team dedicated just to them."

"Captain." Another voice from the other side of the room. "Is there seriously nothing to link these women?"

"Well we're still pursuing all lines of investigation. Naturally." The Captain replied. "But at this point we have nothing to tie these two women together."

"What else do you plan to do?" Another voice hollered out from the wall of noise. "How can people expect to feel safe with this 'Phone Book Killer' on the loose?"

"I'd like to steer clear of giving this person such a nickname. I also think the important thing to focus on here is the level of awareness we're gaining with this very press conference. Now people know, they're quite rightly going to be extra vigilant, which is why I would stress again, no matter how little, if you feel you have any information that we down here at Chicago Police Department would be interested in, then get in touch."

"And what do you plan to do in the meantime?" The voice asked again.

"In the meantime, we're increasing the number of patrols, whether by squad car or on foot. Rest assured, if you need us, we won't be far away." The Captain firmly responded, a defiant look of determination gracing the crowd still jostling for position. "I would like to take the opportunity however, to say one thing. Let's not give this savage the satisfaction."

"How do you mean?" One of the reporters to the Captain's right hand side asked.

"Well the very last thing I want him, or her, thinking is that they've got us running scared. Because be under no false pretense," The Chief stared into one of the cameras, a deep breath before he continued. "We are not afraid of you. The good people of this city will not succumb to your foul acts."

"Do you have anything else to say to the killer? If they're watching I mean." Another journalist asked.

"The only thing I have left to say on this matter is this." Captain Senior stood, his chair scraping along the wooden platform as he did so, snatching his notes from the desk. "I don't want this sick son of a bitch to become some macabre celebrity. These acts. What they've done. They don't deserve the infamy they desire. That they crave. Make no mistake. We'll get our man."

And with that, the Captain turned on the spot and marched back towards the door, Sandra pulling it open as he breezed through and down the long corridor, disappearing from view as the cameras stopped rolling and cut back to the news desk, the anchor looking quite alarmed at proceedings as he stammered, welcoming his viewers back from the live broadcast. Throughout the broadcast, one person had sat in silence. Sat watching. Not moving a muscle as the circus happening on screen ignited into a free for all of information, news crews and journalists pushing and pulling as the Captain of Chicago Police Department dropped the mother of all bombshells. And now, as she sat on the edge of her bed, the events on screen finally sinking in, Tiffany allowed her lips to curl into a sly smile.

"Looks like we'll have to mix things up a little." She said to herself, an involuntary giggle coming from within, uncontrollable as her infectious laughter grew louder and louder, echoing up the stairs and into the vast, empty vacuum of Gorman's Bar.

If Tiffany thought today had been bad.

Then tomorrow, would be murder.


	23. Chapter 4-2

Chapter 4.2

November 15th 1996

Slowly, but surely, the pulsating feeling grew. Every beat rippling across her head. A shock wave emanating from the centre as Tiffany slowly rolled over and attempted, in vain, to open her eyes, the fluorescent tubing of the basement lights proving too much as she snapped her eyelids closed and groaned. The buzzing coming from the lighting had already begun to add to the chaos underway in her brain, the pounding, painful throb of her hangover bringing on a wave of nausea as she suddenly sat up and lunged for the edge of her mattress. Retching for a few seconds, but to no avail, Tiffany remained slumped, her upper body hanging over the corner of her bed as she exhaled deeply . Giving her legs a little shuffle beneath the worn and tattered sheets, she lifted her hands in instinct as the now empty bottle of tequila rolled from the edge of the bed and smashed across the bare concrete floor of Gorman's basement. The explosion of glass sent another thunderbolt slicing into the furthest reaches of Tiffany's brain as she winced in agony and waited for the pain to subside, if only slightly, before pulling her knees to her naked chest and swinging her bare legs over the mattress. Feeling the soles of her feet firmly against the dusty, cold concrete, she pressed her palms down on the bed and pushed herself slowly to a standing position, the cold enveloping her body as she took a deep breath, still unable to open her eyes without the blinding light burning deep into her skull. The trio of lights illuminated the large, run down room tremendously well, hanging from the beams of the ceiling and casting a white glow across all four walls, the thick, wooden beams barely managing to support the floor of the bar above. Raising a hand and shielding her eyes, Tiffany tried once again, managing to fare slightly better as she opened her eyes gradually and surveyed the freezing cold room. The television sat on the work surface running along the opposite wall of the basement, unresponsive as the screen sat still and dark, last nights press conference returning to Tiffany suddenly as she allowed her throbbing head to remember what it could. The Captain of Chicago Police Department stumbling through a car crash of a press conference. The assembled media whipped into a frenzy as the bombshell dropped, the second Sarah Pirce murdered, and in the same order they appeared in the phone book no less. One thing was for certain, Tiffany thought as she stretched, rocking back on the balls of her feet as her body allowed the cool air to investigate every pore, her breasts lifting slightly as she did so, throwing her arms into the air and letting a large yawn escape. By the sounds of things the police were stepping it up a gear. Obviously Tiffany had expected this. She'd have been crazy not to. But that didn't alter the fact that she now had one hell of an obstacle to work around. Stepping up patrols, increasing the number of officers on foot, reaching out to the remaining girls. Still, the element of surprise remained in Tiffany's hands. They had no witnesses, no description and no idea when or where the next 'episode' would take place. Relaxing from her stretch, and giving her head a gentle shake, Tiffany took a step backwards and let herself go, landing on the corner of her bed as she sat and gave her next move some serious thought. As she studied, she took in the room around her. The pile of garbage dumped in one corner, all odds and ends from the bar, had long since been accepted. Broken cigarette machines, bags of cement, boxes of duct tape, reams of discoloured paper and a couple lengths of rope were more or less part of the furniture as far as she was concerned, Selena not seeming to be in any rush to clear them away. There had been another length of rope but she had found a use for that the other night, her first victim being the unfortunate recipient. A small smirk gave way to a tiny fit of laughter as Tiffany stooped to the floor and lifted the newspaper laying by her feet, examining the front cover, for the hundredth time, and flipping through the pages to find the article reporting the death of the very first Sarah Pirce. It didn't go into quite as much detail as she would have liked, but that was a good thing in a way. It gave her something to reference. Some minor detail that had previously gone unreported, should she need any help convincing the police that she was indeed this 'Phone Book Killer' that the media had christened her. They had reported, for example, that the first Sarah Pirce had been shot multiple times. Twice in the upper body, and once more in the head. But they had neglected to mention the fact that she had already been dead by that point. A coroner's report would determine the cause of death to be acute asphyxiation, the result of her body being suspended from a tree in her own backyard. A shiver of excitement, an outbreak of goosebumps, all came across Tiffany as she closed her eyes and recollected the sequence of events. Two hours she had awaited Sarah's arrival, finding her address from the phone book and picking the perfect moment to strike. She'd arrived home, probably from work, and exited her vehicle without a care in the world, heading to the trunk of her car completely oblivious to Tiffany's presence as she had found herself attacked from behind, the swing of a hammer doing the job and rendering the unsuspecting woman unconscious before she hit the floor. There had been a lot of options for Tiffany at this point, but seeing the house empty and in darkness, she had made her decision a while ago, retrieving the length of rope from the trunk of the Plymouth and quickly wrapping it around Sarah's neck before dragging her to a kneeling position beneath the tree and looping the rope around the sturdiest looking branch. As she waited for Sarah to regain consciousness she'd sat and looked over her body. Nothing special. Older than Tiffany by far. She'd had her doubts right then that this was the correct woman, but the very thought that it could be had sent a spark of anger surging through her veins. The image of her precious Chucky pursuing this woman, maybe her leading him on, his hands touching her and god knows what else, had sent Tiffany over the edge as Sarah began to wake up, her confusion evident as she examined her hands, bound in duct tape, and began to panic. Unable to scream due to the ball of socks stuffed in her mouth, Tiffany had approached her, knife in one hand, gun in the other and simply smiled as she raised her hand and flicked the dark curls of hair from her face.

"I know you're probably desperate to know what's going on right now. Maybe even wanting to scream for help." She had whispered as Sarah tried to stand, a swift kick to the back of the knees bringing her crashing to the soil of her garden, Tiffany's smirk turning to a giggle, which in turn developed into a cackle of laughter as she continued. "But for now, let's try and keep this between me and you. Okay?"

Shaking her head, the cobwebs still evident, Sarah had then looked on in horror as Tiffany dropped her weapons and grabbed the end of the rope, the laughter stopping as a more solemn look appeared on her face, eyes never leaving Sarah as she started yanking violently, grunting as she began to hoist her victim into the air, the muffled screams from Sarah Pirce getting more stifled with every pull. She'd kicked, tried even harder to scream, but in the end it all proved futile as Tiffany stood and looked on, watching as her body began to fit uncontrollably, eyes glazing over as the spasms grew wilder, the oxygen cut off, her brain slowly starved before eventually shutting down completely and leaving Sarah's frail body swinging quietly in the cold, evening breeze.

'Just how Chucky would have done it.' Tiffany thought with a smile.

She had to admit that the look of terror, the electricity in the eyes of somebody that knew they were doomed, helpless in fact, had excited her. But she still felt somehow empty. Not how she expected. True there were more women out there, and it was possible that the woman now swinging limply from the tree before her wasn't the correct Sarah Pirce. But she expected more than this. Quite what she had expected to feel she wasn't sure. Liberation perhaps? A satisfaction, even if only slightly? Was she disappointed that it had all been over so quickly? No. All she could feel now, as the adrenaline began to subside was anxiety. An anger that began to bubble to the surface. A rage that had exploded before it could be controlled as Tiffany quickly swooped and picked up the gun, firing as she let out a monstrous scream, the body hanging by the rope absorbing the bullets with a kick as it began to swing back and forth, more violently with every shot. Although four shots met their target, the full round of six had been unloaded, Tiffany firing until the gun was empty, each extra pull of the trigger resulting in nothing more than a 'click' as her anger died down. Common sense kicking in and telling her the best thing to do was get out of there. Quickly. She had done, naturally, and just in the nick of time by the sounds of the news papers write up, the witnesses describing what they found moments after hearing several shots. The second Sarah Pirce had been a little more difficult to corner, hence the urgency and complete lack of any plan other than to shoot first, ask questions later. But again, the feeling remained. An exhilaration giving way to a lack of fulfilment and an emptiness she found hard to brush aside. Would it finally relent? Finally drain away once the seventh and final Sarah Pirce had been dealt with? Tiffany wasn't so sure. She hoped so. Nevertheless, she would find out in due course. She had set her plan in motion and wouldn't rest until she had carried it through to the end. Not just for her, but for Chucky too. For the both of them. After all, it was this bitch's fault that they now found themselves in this position. Chucky dead, Tiffany going crazy over whether or not she would ever see him again. The hardest thing this last eight years had been the anticipation. All this work, all this searching, all this heartache. What if it was nothing but a waste of time? She had to admit, right now as she sat on her bed in the basement of Gorman's, the idea of what she had set out to achieve sounded ludicrous. Like a childish dream, a fantasy. But everything she had heard. Everything she had seen. She had to carry on, because her day would come. Maybe not today, tomorrow or even the day after that, but it would come, she would see to it. And when it did they could pick uo where they left off. She still had the ring, the very same one she found the night Chucky died. All she needed was him. Feeling her hangover beginning to wear off, Tiffany gave her head a little shake and stood, the cold biting at her bare legs as she crossed the basement floor and flicked the switch on the ancient boiler in front of her, the pipes beginning to creak and groan as the flame inside grew tall and long, water beginning to pump around the vast network of pipes littering the building. Turning, newspaper in hand and striding back across the basement, Tiffany suddenly had an idea as she cast her eyes over the assembled pile of odds and ends sat in the corner of the room, the reams of paper sitting proudly on top as if calling to her as she lifted the newspaper with a smile and let her idea blossom with a smile.

Time to send the police a friendly greeting card.

One step ahead. That was the plan as the Chicago Police Department went about their daily business, the patrol car signaling and pulling into the side of the road as the apartment building shot up from the sidewalk like some gargantuan, concrete monolith. The streets were busy. Frantic in fact. Teeming with life as the residents of this great city went about their days with little to no worry. Couriers dashed in and out of traffic, the blare of horns from irate motorists going largely ignored, only a few gaining a reply in the extension of the occasional middle finger. Business men and women strode the sidewalks exuding confidence and charisma as they marched on oblivious, the generously sized cellular phones clamped to their ears with one hand, a steaming cup of coffee gripped in the other, barely paying attention as they barked orders and smooth talked clients. Window cleaners worked feverishly along the line of storefront windows. Buckets of water dragged along as they quickly applied their squeegee and moved on to the next customer, cigarette casually hanging from the lips as they hurriedly scribbled a receipt upon payment. Straightening up and shutting off the ignition, officer Harold Wan ran his fingers through a head of jet black hair and cast his eyes over the crowd. Constantly changing. A blur of faces. A sea of criminal activity no doubt lurking beneath the cheap perfume and false smiles. Intuition told him that any other day, he'd be walking this beat and picking up all kinds of calls. A car theft here. A mugging there. Maybe a call from an informant in the Chinese district. But today was different, no better reminder than the one that greeted him as the turned his attention across the street and found himself face to face with officer Patrick McCain, the words rolling from his tongue as he addressed officer Wan without allowing his eyes to leave his crossword.

"Tea set found on property." McCain mumbled, pen between his lips as the wrinkles gracing his face stretched with every word.

"What?" Wan replied, momentarily diverted from the heaving throng of people passing by the patrol car.

"That's what it says here." McCain said as he gestured to his crossword. "Tea set found on property. Six letters."

"How the hell do I know?" Wan snapped, visibly pissed at the lack of attention from his partner.

"Jesus." McCain lifted his head and surveyed the much younger officer. "Bad day already?"

"I just don't get what were doing here." Wan shook his head and gestured to the crowd. "How is this helping?"

"You know exactly what we're doing here Wan." McCain's eyes returned to his crossword, pen now tapping constantly upon his bottom lip. "Or was I at a different briefing to you?"

"You know what I mean." Wan retorted.

"This is where that third Pirce woman lives right?" McCain gestured towards the apartment block with his pen.

"Obviously." Wan said.

"Then we do what the captain said. We sit tight. We observe. Try and spot this guy."

"Never gonna happen." Wan shook his head once more.

"Meaning?" Officer McCain asked, dropping his crossword as he gave officer Wan his full attention.

"Let's assume that this guy, like the rest of the city, saw that press conference last night." Wan laughed. "You really think he'd be stupid enough to come down here?"

"You're right," McCain nodded. "A stupid person wouldn't do that."

"Exactly." Wan smiled in agreement. His good mood short lived as McCain interrupted.

"However, who are we to judge this guy to be stupid?" McCain continued. "Crazy, maybe. But not necessarily stupid."

"Bullshit!" Wan scoffed. "Nobody in their right mind would step foot within a hundred yards of this place now."

"Look," McCain cast his gaze upon the crowd outside. "You're probably right. Which is why Johnson and Lewis are doing the exact same as us down at the fourth Pirce woman's place. If this guy decides to trick us, maybe skip one, then we'll be waiting."

"I guess." Wan joined McCain in examining the public making their way past the entrance to the apartment block. The assortment of faces racing past. "But even if he does show up. How are we supposed to notice him? I mean he'd have to have 'serial killer' stamped across his forehead and be carrying a butcher knife and a damned mini-gun before he raised any suspicions."

"You'll know." McCain laughed. "You young guns don't seem to understand that half of being a cop is intuition. Look for somebody acting shifty. Long coat to conceal any weapons and what have you."

"And until then?" Wan asked, sinking back into his seat behind the wheel of the patrol car.

"We wait." McCain answered, reaching for his crossword and beginning to once more chew on the tip of his pen. "Because sooner or later this guy's gonna screw up."

"Let's hope it's sooner rather than later." Wan replied folding his arms across his chest and laying his head back into his head rest.

"Fingers crossed Wan." McCain mumbled. "Now make yourself useful and help me with this crossword."

There were drawbacks, it appeared, to your boss being in police custody. Not only was the bar unable to open during Selena's temporary incarceration, it also appeared nobody was to be paid either. Which brought about an entirely new problem for Tiffany. Today's activities would require some money, as did almost everything life has to offer. After sitting and carefully cutting up the two days old copy of the Chicago Times, arranging the letters in a way that enabled her to create an anonymous letter to the Captain of Chicago Police Department, Tiffany had set about getting dressed and preparing herself for the day ahead only to realise she had no money. No money, no credit card, nothing. A problem she had craftily managed to manoeuvre by dipping into the till behind the bar at Gorman's. Not something she was proud of, but entirely necessary considering what she had planned. Besides which, she would hopefully be long gone by the time Selena was released, meaning no immediate repercussions. Or so she hoped. Now as she stepped from the shadows of one of the many local convenience stores, she could feel a chill whip around her body. Her short, black dress, her naked legs and the tall stilettos heels seeming only to draw attention from a construction site next door as she removed the cellophane from a packet of cigarettes and nonchalantly cast it into the afternoon breeze, the wind whipping it instantly off and down the street as she removed a cigarette from the pack and placed it between her lips. Then, feeling her senses twitch, her subconscious picked up on something scrawled across the front page of today's edition of the Chicago Times, Tiffany craning her neck to investigate and finding a headline referring to Captain Senior's shambles of a media event the night before. Reaching into her bag, hanging from her shoulder, suspended by her bare thighs, Tiffany retrieved her lighter and struck the flint, inhaling as she carefully dipped the tip of her cigarette into the flickering flame and grabbed the newspaper from the rack. Releasing a cloud of nicotine infused smoke, she took in the headline. 'PHONE BOOK KILLER TERRORISES CITY' it read, the sub-heading promoting a complete lack of confidence in the police force as it determined them to be devoid of any clues as to the identity of the assailant. Opening the rag and flicking to the corresponding page Tiffany read on. The two murders already committed were examined in great depth. No stone left unturned as the journalist of the Chicago Times valiantly sought the big scoop. The story carrying the potential to make or break a career. The article glossed over all manner of subjects. Potential suspects, motives and future victims all included as Tiffany read on with a wry smile gathering across her lips. Last night she had fallen asleep, tequila in hand and an uneasy feeling creeping into her mind. What if she'd been lazy? What if somebody had seen her? Seen her car? What if the police knew more than they were letting on? What if, what if, what if… It had been enough to drive her mad, the seemingly infinite possibilities stemming from one small detail. She knew it was natural to feel that way. A paranoia invading every thought and casting doubt upon a well laid plan. She'd experienced it a handful of times with Chucky towards the end. As the victims began to pile up, as the Lakeshore Strangler became yet another boogeyman to plague the city and the police, the tension rose and Chucky's demeanor became more and more agitated. His nerves gradually became more frayed. Violent outburst more and more common. Not towards Tiffany, but anybody within reaching distance soon felt the wrath of Charles Lee Ray as the police circled like sharks, unaware just how close they were to catching him on a number of occasions. She'd tried to reassure him. Explained that the police had no evidence and how careful he had been. But it hadn't been enough. At the time she thought it foolish. Silly in fact. But last night as she sat nursing the half empty bottle of tequila, analysing whatever she could remember of the press conference surrounding the murders, she too had felt the flutter of nerves. The nagging feeling that refused to leave her no matter how much she tried to remain calm. She'd felt better this morning though, coming to the conclusion that alcohol had more hindered than helped in her attempts to carefully retrace her steps. After waking this morning and going over everything twice, thrice even in some cases, she had been more than satisfied that the police remained one step behind. After all, it was bound to set alarm bells ringing. Two women with the same name, in the same city, brutally murdered within days of one another? The whole point of her adopting this rapid fire plan was for this very reason. Strike quick. Be organised and finished before the police knew what the fuck was happening. No doubt they'd try to formulate a plan. Out-think her and maybe guess as to the location of her next target. If they succeeded then so be it. She'd cross that bridge as and when she came to it. Right now however, she felt a wave of relief as she continued to read on, finishing the article with a silent snigger as she closed the newspaper and placed it back on the rack, the eyes of the shopkeeper burning into the back of her head as Tiffany gave an embarrassed smile and stepped onto the quiet sidewalk. Feeling the wind softly dance through her hair, Tiffany felt reinvigorated. If anything, the article she had just read, couple with the police forces obvious stupidity, had given her an air of confidence as she looked up and down the street, a phone booth resting just fifty yards away as she turned and began to stride towards it, her heels clicking along the sidewalk as she felt the blinding sun on her back, unusual for this time of year, but more than welcome. Reaching the phone booth in no time at all and yanking the folding door to one side Tiffany stepped inside and grabbed the White Pages stowed beneath, opening the book and flicking through the pages at speed. It didn't take long, her jet black fingernail soon enough scraping down the familiar page and coming to a stop at the name 'S. Pirce'. The top two were done. Finished business as far as she was concerned. However, five remained and this is where the fun began. Would the police be counting on her heading straight to Sarah Pirce number three? Perhaps they anticipated her train of thought and had instead decided to lay in wait at the residence of Sarah Pirce number 4. Maybe, just maybe, they had gone all out and were planning on ambushing her at each and every address listed. This raised the stakes somewhat, she had to admit, and to be honest it gave her a little bit of a buzz. But she still had that element of surprise. The police would most definitely be on the lookout for a male for a start. So even if they were present, she was pretty confident of getting in and out without so much as a glance from Chicago P.D's finest. Returning the White Pages and leaving the phone booth, Tiffany folded the door closed behind her and stopped dead in her tracks. An idea sparking into life as she spotted the florists across the street. Flowers gracing the window, buckets full of the things scattered one on top of the other, stacked high as though jostling for position. Hand painted signs stood on the sidewalk, orders made to whatever wishes the customer had, ribbon and decorations of all sizes and colours. Feeling her mischievous side begin to clamber to the surface, Tiffany grinned.

'Maybe it's time to have some fun.' She thought as she checked both ways and started to cross the street.

Grabbing the oversized steering wheel of the Plymouth and pulling herself forward Tiffany peered out from behind her shades, the street sign finally appearing as a stationary delivery truck pulled away from the kerb. Signaling and guiding the huge car down the narrow road, Tiffany examined the buildings to her left. Tall concrete structures towered over the street below as the residents and business owners scurried about like ants. People walked dogs, jogged, drank coffees as they walked and chatted, all the while blissfully unaware of the evil scheme currently underway as Tiffany spotted the apartment building and continued past, travelling a little further down the street. When she reached what she determined to be a safe distance, she pulled the Plymouth to the kerb. The white wall tyres brushing the sidewalk as she applied the brakes and gently let the car roll to a halt. Grabbing the gear stick emerging from the steering column, she placed the car into park and shut off the engine. The rumbling of the magnificent machine ceasing immediately as Tiffany reached for her handbag now resting on the passenger seat. Peering inside, a hum escaping her lips as she searched, her eyes widened and a content smile smoothly appeared as she laid her eyes on her trusty knife/nail file. As reliable as ever and never far away, this thing had paid for itself multiple times over. Zipping her handbag closed and lifting her head, she looked in the rear view mirror and had to stifle a giggle as she looked at her new acquisition on the rear seat of the Plymouth. A brief call at the florists had wielded a bargain, the girl behind the counter able to suggest just the thing as Tiffany explained what she was after. She was sure the police would love it. In the long run that was. Removing the keys from the Plymouths ignition and opening the door, Tiffany stepped onto the sidewalk, stopping briefly to lean back in through the open door and grab her handbag and surprise package, the plain cardboard looking anything but exciting. She couldn't be leaving that behind now could she? Package held firmly beneath her arm, she slid the keys into the drivers' door and locked the car, taking another look around as people hurried to and fro. Sure enough, she had spotted a police car on her journey past the building, which was to be expected. All she had to do was keep her composure and all would be good. Truth be told, she found the police presence added a little zing to the occasion. A factor of danger that made her hairs stand on end as she began to walk, passing the patrol car and observing the two officers inside, the younger oriental looking officer monitoring the street, giving Tiffany a quick glance as she passed and flashed a smile, the older officer focused on something else. She wasn't sure what, but it didn't exactly look like official police business.

'Hard at work boys?' Tiffany thought to herself still smiling, turning her attention to the apartment block before her, blending in with the crowd as best she could. Calmly approaching the entrance and climbing the steps one at a time she stopped at the secure door, the long list of names each flanked by the corresponding button to 'buzz' the apartment, a supposedly secure way of screening any guests. It never worked out that way obviously as Tiffany found out, the door to the lobby of the apartment block swinging open as a tall well built man in a flat cap and high visibility jacket came racing through, noticing Tiffany and holding the door for her, the pair exchanging pleasantries as she stepped through the door and into the lobby, noticing the floor and apartment number of one Sarah Pirce. Apartment 305. The third floor was easily accessible by the elevator at the end of the corridor, although Tiffany chose to ignore it. The poorly spelled graffiti indicating all manner of sexual acts that had taken place in the tiny metal carriage. No, she had decided to take the stairs long before she had arrived, simply because she wished to get an idea of the buildings layout. Plan an escape route should things go wrong. The exit seemed easy enough. There seemed to be a push button that released the locking mechanism and allowed the door to swing free. However, the last thing Tiffany needed was to be disturbed either during or immediately after what she had planned, then have to rely on the urine soaked elevator at the end of the hall. The stairs were steep. Steeper than she thought they'd be as she grabbed the banister and pulled herself up flight after flight, her legs beginning to tire quickly as she felt her heels dig into the plush carpet. Soon enough she found herself on the third floor. The sign gracing the wall indicating apartments 301 – 313 to be to Tiffany's left as she turned and began her long walk down the narrow, crudely decorated corridor. The wallpaper had begun to peel. Years ago by the looks of things. Plaster crumbled from the walls, everywhere she looked there seemed to be signs of wear and tear. Neglect and abuse. Pausing, and taking another look down the empty corridor, Tiffany looked at the door now waiting in front of her, apartment number 305, the numbers barely held on with tape, the peephole resting smack bang in the middle of the zero as Tiffany took one final breath and curled her hand into a fist. One more look either way, the coast well and truly clear, Tiffany pulled her hand back and rapped gently on the door. Nothing. No voice, no footsteps, nothing. She gave it a few seconds and tried again. Louder this time, knocking with a little more force as the banging echoed down the hall. Then she heard it. She wasn't sure what exactly 'it' was, but she heard it. A mumble emerging from within. A muffled voice followed by a lung shattering cough as soft, shuffling footsteps approached the door, the gentle creak as the occupant uncovered her side of the peephole and looked through the door and into the darkness of the corridor.

"Who is it?" The voice strained, gravelly and coarse.

"I have a delivery for you ma'am?" Tiffany lied, holding the package up as she leaned towards the peephole and grinned.

"For me?" The voice seemed puzzled. "It can't be!"

"Sarah Pirce?" Tiffany asked, pretending to read a label. "305 North Lakeshore Drive?"

"That's me." The voice croaked. "But I didn't order no package."

"Maybe you have a secret admirer." Tiffany laughed as she flashed her widest grin.

"The hell I do." The voice wheezed and coughed, the sound of bolts and locks being opened as Tiffany stepped back and waited, the sight that greeted her knocking her for six. As the door swung inwards she found herself greeted by a woman no younger than sixty years old. Her face covered from ear to ear in deep, weathered wrinkles as she coughed again, removing the almost burned out cigarette from her dry, blistered lips and dropping it to the worn and filthy carpet. As she looked at the package, the square box held in Tiffany's hands, she seemed almost lost for words.

'Could this really be the woman Chucky had been so obsessed with?' Tiffany found herself thinking. Did she believe that? The state of this woman was nothing short of horrendous. Still, eight years was a long time, she told herself. Which meant there was still a chance this was her girl.

"Let me fetch it in for you." Tiffany giggled, snapping from her day dream and beginning to march into the apartment, Sarah Pirce having no time to stop her as she found herself brushed aside. Heading through the first door she came across, Tiffany found herself in the living room of the apartment, deceptively large and incredibly clean given the state of the occupant. Without saying another word, she set the box on the table and stepped to one side, Sarah appearing behind her and approaching the box with an unrivaled curiosity.

"What is it?" Sarah asked, turning her head and directing her question to the stranger now stood in her living room.

"You'll have to open it and find out." Tiffany laughed. "Whatever it is must be important."

"I guess." Sarah turned her attention back to the package, the plain cardboard box measuring roughly three cubic feet. "You know, you don't look like no delivery girl."

"I don't?" Tiffany seemed surprised, willing Sarah to open the box as she stumbled for a reply. "I'm just doing this as a favour for a friend. Her regular girl let her down."

"I see." Sarah answered, reaching out and grabbing the top of the box, raising the flaps on either side and then lifting the lid to reveal the contents, oblivious to the fact that Tiffany had silently stepped up behind her. Confused at first, Sarah reached in and removed the item to get a better look, the wreath in her hands a beautiful specimen no doubt as the sash draped across it hung loose, the words leaving Sarah lost for words.

**-R.I.P – SARAH PIRCE-**

"Is this some kind of joke..." Sarah began to ask, completely taken aback and powerless to resist as without warning she suddenly felt the cold steel of Tiffany's knife slice into the back of her head. A very short, searing pain at the very top of her neck as her eyeballs rolled backwards and her body fell limp, the wreath falling to the floor in one quick, fluid motion. Placing her free hand around Sarah's waist, Tiffany held her up, twisting and pushing even further with her other hand, her fingers wrapped around the handle of the knife and turning white as she grunted in determination. Feeling a crunch of bone and spotting Sarah's arms hanging loosely by her side, Tiffany removed the knife almost as quickly as it had entered, pulling her arm back once more before thrusting the knife into Sarah's back, the blood squirting across Tiffany's wrist as she plunged the blade into her flesh, withdrawing it quickly and repeating the process over and over. One by one the puncture wounds appeared, Sarah's body quickly resembling nothing other than a beaten mess. A bloody pulp as Tiffany savagely inflicted the final blow and released her. The body landed with a thud on the living room carpet, Sarah's lungs releasing one last sigh as the blood continued to flow, taking no time at all to saturate the carpet. Tiffany took a step backwards, feeling the thick, viscous liquid beginning to stain her shoes and feet. Still warm, the blood had a sticky texture to it, penetrating the tiny folds in the soles of her feet and embedding itself almost immediately. Lifting her head, Tiffany observed the fresh corpse now laying face down in the living room of apartment 305 and felt a pulsating sensation in her ears, her blood pressure going into overdrive as, as always, the adrenaline released itself, her heart racing loud and fast as she felt her ribcage literally swelling with every beat. That was it. So easy. Just like that. Another light extinguished In the name of revenge. The room silent, Tiffany allowed herself a moment to breathe, jumping as Sarah's body suddenly moved, a groan escaping as the muscles tightened, a standard reaction that Tiffany had never gotten used to.

"Shit!" Tiffany cursed, reaching into her bag for a cigarette, lighting it as quickly as she could, her hands trembling, and sucking the acrid smoke inwards. She figured she could give it a couple of minutes before the real work began. Then it was simply a case of dialing 911 from Sarah's phone and waiting for the police to investigate. Which they would. The predictability of Chicago's finest boys in blue on her side this time. In the end it only took a minute, Tiffany's cigarette burning from tip to filter as she inhaled lungful after lungful, not looking forward to the next bit of her plan one bit. Stepping forward Tiffany came to a stop and squatted besides Sarah Pirce's body, the puncture wounds still oozing as she examined the devastation. Then closing her eyes, she slowly pressed her palms into the surface of the now moist and sticky carpet, the blood coating the skin of her hands and glazing them a deep, dark red. Turning and looking at the wall behind her, the surface of the plaster barren of any pictures or light fittings, Tiffany stood and proceeded with her plan, raising her eyebrows and sighing to herself.

"Even murder has its ugly side."

Silence filled the patrol car, the only sound coming from the preoccupied officer McCain as he rattled his pen between his teeth, crossword almost complete save for a few troublesome clues. The volume of traffic passing by had remained constant, every car becoming more and more of a blur as the two officers tried to remain vigilant, the mundane task beginning to get the better of them as time ticked by. Suddenly, Wan broke the silence. McCain unflinching as he continued to work on his crossword.

"Estate." Wan said.

"Hmm?" McCain barely acknowledging him.

"Tea set found on property." Wan turned to his partner before allowing his attention to return to the perimeter of the apartment block. "It's 'Estate'. Tea set is an anagram of estate. Which some people use to describe property."

"A-ha!" McCain laughed as he lifted his pen and began to scribble frantically. "What about that? Ever think of doing this police thing as a job?"

"Funny…" Wan laughed. "I was about to ask you the same thing."

"Oh really?" McCain retorted with a smile, lifting the pen from the paper and examining the crossword to see how his new discovery altered things.

"Yeah, but I figure you left it a little late in life for that."

McCain was just about to bite, the humour helping to lighten the mood of an otherwise boring and drawn out afternoon, when the static from the patrol cars radio bursting through the air and piercing the ears as the voice called out, a crackle and a pop as the radio fizzed into life.

"Car 34 come in." The husky, mature tone of Control called out. "Repeat. Car 34 come in. Over."

Before McCain could react Wan had the mouthpiece in his hand, lifted from the console as he answered the call and observed the crowd passing by outside, the leggy brunette from earlier flashing another smile as she again strolled on by.

"Control this is car 34, over." Wan replied, releasing the switch on the mouth piece and allowing static to fill the air again, control responding immediately.

"Be advised, disturbance at your location. Please investigate." The response causing both officers to exchange a confused look.

"Roger that control, but are you sure?" Wan asked, puzzled, McCain dropping his crossword and placing his Chicago P.D hat on his head. "We're right outside and everything looks good."

"Understand that car 34. We have a dead call from a number registered to 305 North Lake shore Drive." Control replied sternly.

"Roger control." Wan said, McCain sat beside him and gesturing with his hands, his lips mouthing a question as Wan nodded and continued. "Do we have a name?"

"Affirmative car 34," Control replied. "Name on record is one Sarah Helen Pirce."

Without saying a word both men flew open their doors, the patrol car rocking as the doors were slammed shut. The crowd of people seemed to turn as one, curiosity getting the better of them as officers Wan and McCain began the arduous task before them, pushing and pulling their way through the wall of people and fighting towards the apartment block one step at a time. Eventually they reached the steps, leaping two at a time as they arrived at the entrance and examined the list of names, sure enough the name 'S. Pirce' displayed at apartment 305. Pressing the buzzer Wan waited, McCain arriving by his side as he finally caught up, bent double as he fought to catch his breath.

No answer.

Desperately, Wan pressed the buzzer again, holding the button in longer before relaxing it and intermittently repeating the process, all to no avail.

"Fuck!" Wan spat, stepping back and lifting his head to take in the towering structure before him, the third floor so near yet so far. Still catching his breath, McCain had an idea, approaching the panel of switches and running his finger down the list of names, pressing each and every button as he did so. Within seconds a melody of voices rang out, the greetings eerily similar as the occupants of the apartments responded, McCain yelling into the intercom as his face turned a deeper shade of red.

"Police!" He boomed. "Open the door!"

As confusion and pessimism reigned across the residents of North Lakeshore Drive officer Wan made a decision, withdrawing his side arm and approaching the door to the lobby of the apartment block, hollering at McCain to stand aside as he unloaded a shot, the glass door splintering upon impact but remaining solid as a crowd of people passing innocently by screamed and fled, others remaining to see what the drama was. Squeezing the trigger once more Wan took aim and fired another shot, the glass exploding on impact and spreading itself evenly between the exterior steps and the interior of the lobby. Before McCain could uncover his eyes Wan was off, tearing to the stairwell without a second thought. Spying the elevator, doors wide open, at the end o the hall McCain stepped inside and slowly began to jog, reaching the doors and practically dropping to his knees as he entered. Hitting the button for the third floor he watched as the doors scraped together, graffiti and expended cigarette butts surrounding him as he retreated to a sitting position, back against the elevator wall as he fought to catch his breath. He had wanted to keep up with Was, but the way that guy had sprinted off, leaping the stairs two and three at a time had meant that was no longer an option. All McCain could do was hope that Wan would show restraint and not enter apartment 305 without him. After all, if this was a legitimate emergency and their man was waiting inside, then who knew what he was capable of. Probably more than they had already seen. Pushing himself from the floor and climbing to his feet, McCain drew his side arm and waited as the elevator came to a stop, the doors sliding apart as the empty corridor stretched on into the distance. No Wan in sight McCain took his first trembling step from the elevator and examined the numbers on the doors as he gradually made his way along the weathered, yet surprisingly well lit corridor. Weary of what may lay up ahead, McCain lifted the radio attached to the breast of his jacket and spoke quietly.

"Wan." He hissed as he approached the door to apartment 305. "You there?"

A brief pause as McCain reached the door to the apartment, back against the wall as he lowered his sidearm now gripped tightly in both hands. Peering around the corner McCain found nothing out of the ordinary, the door wide open leading into the apartment and beyond, McCain jumping a mile as his heart skipped a beat as his radio crackled with static and Wan's voice quietly filtering over the airwaves. Low and almost robotic Wan seemed lost for words as his tone met with McCain's ears.

"McCain." He spoke gently. "Where are you?"

"Outside the apartment." McCain calmly responded.

"Get in here now." Wan instantly shot back.

"What is it?" McCain squeezed the transmit button of his radio and asked, taking another look around the choir frame and turning the corner, gun still drawn. "You got our guy?"

"Negative." Wan replied. "He's long gone."

"Then what is it?" McCain asked again, the tension building.

"Just get in here." Wan said.

Navigating the entrance to the apartment, McCain stopped at the first door he came across, the living room no less. Looking inside and doing a double take as he saw the stationary figure of officer Wan. McCain lowered his weapon and entered the living room with a sigh of relief, approaching Wan from behind and laying a hand on his shoulder, his partner unflinching as McCain followed his gaze and allowed his eyes to survey the scene before them. A feeling of nausea rapidly spreading to his stomach as he fought the urge to vomit and gasped in shock.

"Good god!"

Now, with the late afternoon sun beginning to set on the horizon, the darkness rolled in as a cluster of clouds gathered overhead and the rain began to fall. Only a few drops at first, but gradually increasing as Tiffany flicked the wipers of the Plymouth into action and turned on her headlights, the road in front of her stretching far into the distance as she sank back into the plush leather upholstery and allowed the radio to work it's magic. Checking her rear view mirror, Chicago long since disappearing as the car worked its way along the highway, she began to feel a few butterflies of excitement as she thought of the drama that would come with tomorrows shenanigans. She hadn't expected to be making this trip so soon, but her hand had been somewhat forced. The best option considering the recent police activity surrounding her little plan. Now, turning her attention back to the road, she allowed herself a smile as she acknowledged the sign to the right of the highway, passing quickly as the bright red Plymouth kicked up dust and sped on.

'ILLINOIS STATE MENTAL FACILITY - 50KM'

Time to meet the infamous Karen Barclay.


	24. Chapter 4-3

Chapter 4.3

November 16th 1996

The storm had continued through the night. The rain getting heavier as the occasional roar of thunder echoed throughout the region. A battle fought in the clouds above as the ensuing lightning storm played havoc with the electricity in the small motel room Tiffany had checked into late that night. Throwing caution the wind and enjoying a surge of spontaneity she had grabbed one of the many flyers from the front desk, hunger getting the better of her as she scoured the menu of a local take-out establishment for something that would satisfy her hunger. She'd found it exhilarating. A real night to herself without fear of interruption as she soaked in the deepest bubble bath she could, the water to the point of burning as she felt every pore open and become instantly cleansed, teetering on the brink of sleep as the knock on the motel room door suddenly helped her stir back to life, food arriving bang on time. The remainder of the evening had been spent curled up on the bed, the thick, warm covers helping to amplify the insulation of her bath robe as she grabbed a coke from the mini-bar and tucked into her pizza, turning on the TV to find a horror movie marathon on one of the many channels the motels cable service had to offer. Nightmare on Elm St, Evil Dead, Halloween, the list went on as Tiffany watched for hours, eyes glued to the screen as the blood flowed and the screams reverberated around the motel room walls, a knock from the adjoining room a polite request to lower the volume. Soon enough her eyes had begun to fall heavy, the next thing she knew it was well into the early hours, the distorted static from the TV throwing the room into a magnificent white glow as she reached for the remote and finally turned it off. She had a big day ahead of her and sleep was welcomed with open arms.

The following morning she found herself awoken by the sounds of birds. The chorus of chirps and tweets a welcome change from the revving of engines and the monotonous holler of Selena Thomas as she screamed for Tiffany get out of bed. No, she could get used to this. The clean, crisp bedding and the softest mattress she had ever encountered had given her a wonderful nights sleep as she stretched and felt reinvigorated for the day ahead. Looking at the clock, not long after ten, she decided the best thing was to get dressed and then make her arrangements as quickly as possible, the burning question spending over two years on her lips as she patiently waited, picking the time for this meeting and dragging the truth from Karen Barclay even if it involved climbing across that table and beating it out of her. Was she the one to enlist the services of Jack Fuller? Most likely. Tiffany had come to this conclusion years ago. Who else would be so obsessed with Chucky and the stories surrounding his demise and new lease of life? After all, it was nothing more than a myth. Especially to go to such lengths as paying through the nose for somebody to do the digging for them. No. She had to be the one behind Fuller's involvement. Why though? Was it fear? Hatred? That was what she planned on finding out. Among other things. She could read newspaper reports all day long, but now she had the chance to quiz this bitch herself and find out every last detail. Like what went on in that apartment of hers? Why them? Oh she could go on. She could probably sit and write a list longer than a Leonard Cohen song in fact. The only problem was, Karen Barclay would probably not just volunteer such information. Especially not once she knew who Tiffany was. And there was the problem. Everything leading to this moment. The years of curiosity. Now she had the answers only a stones throw down the road, and seemed to be stumbling at the last hurdle. There was, of course, one route she could try. By now Tiffany figured Karen Barclay must be going mad staring at four walls, nobody to listen to her, nobody to believe her. Surely she'd jump at the chance to engage in conversation with a neutral party. Somebody that displayed an interest, a belief even, in the wild and outrageous claims she made eight years previous. It wasn't guaranteed, but it was the best she could come up with and it was going to have to be enough. Climbing out of bed, Tiffany headed to the bathroom, crossing the deep carpet and feeling a warmth she hadn't felt since she was a child. A comfort that made her spine tingle as she crossed the room, bath robe wrapped tightly around her waist, and entered the bathroom. The immaculate white tiles gleamed as the sunlight shone through the window and filled the room with light as Tiffany pulled the shower curtain back and flicked on the shower, the water instantly spraying across the length of the bathtub, the miniature jets containing enough pressure to leave dimples in the skin as Tiffany slipped her robe to the floor and climbed beneath the shower head.

Who knew what today would bring?

Emerging from the bathroom, slipping into a pair of jeans and buttoning up a crisp white blouse, Tiffany slipped on her leather jacket. One at a time she slid her arms down the sleeves as she pulled the garment up and flicked her hair above the collar. Turning and slipping into her heels, she dropped to her knees and quickly buckled the thin, leather straps around her ankles before standing and briefly stopping at the mirror hanging on the motel room wall, giving her reflection one final glance before heading to the window and surveying the parking lot out front. The highway traffic zipping by as Tiffany's heart jumped into her throat. Out in the parking lot, standing beside Tiffany's Plymouth Fury, stood a police officer. As Tiffany stopped dead in her tracks, she watched as the officer gave the tyres a little kick, before stooping forward and lifting his hand, shielding the sunlight as he checked out the interior of the vehicle.

"Shit!" Tiffany spat through clenched teeth, instantly dropping to her knees, beneath the window of the motel room as the officer turned in her direction.

What the fuck was this? Had he run the plates through their system? He can't have. That was one of the first thing she did. New plates to avoid any unwanted attention. That car hadn't been registered to Mrs Appleby for over two years now. There had to be something though. Why else would he be so interested? Unless he were on the lookout for the plates. Maybe somebody had seen her. Either yesterday or the night before. If so then the entire state could be out looking for that car. Lifting her head slightly, fingertips white as she gripped the windowsill, Tiffany took a quick look back across the parking lot, just in time to notice the officer examine his watch as he turned and began to walk towards the motel reception. Sensing an opportunity, Tiffany quickly hurried, standing in a heartbeat and scooping as many of her clothes, toiletries and possessions into the holdall resting on her freshly made bed. One quick look around the room wielded nothing alarming. Nothing incriminating anyway. Unless leaving a half eaten pepperoni pizza counted as a felony she should be relatively safe. So long as she could make it to her car without being spotted that was. Grabbing the handle of the motel room door, she twisted and slowly pulled it open, the sunlight beginning to filter through the crack and gradually making its way across the carpet as Tiffany examined the parking lot through the gap before her. The coast was clear. From what she could see anyway. Pulling the door slowly, she stuck her head into the crisp air of the morning and allowed her eyes to run along the line of doors to her right. The coast was indeed clear, much to Tiffany's delight as she emerged from the room, smiling as she stepped onto the tarmac and heaved the bag over her shoulder. Without closing the door behind her, Tiffany moved quickly, her heels striking the concrete beneath her as she felt her heart swell in her chest, every beat ringing in her ears as she reached the Plymouth and yanked open the trunk, throwing the holdall inside before slamming the trunk closed once more. Not even risking a glance towards the motel reception, she headed down the length of the beautiful red machine, fumbling in her purse, frantic with worry as she searched for her keys, a voice calmly greeting her from behind as Tiffany Valentine froze on the spot.

"Morning ma'am." The voice said.

Hand still resting in her purse, Tiffany lifted her eyes to the window of the car, the reflection indicating the presence of the police officer she had seen examining the vehicle just moments ago. Hand still rummaging inside her purse, Tiffany felt her fingers fall upon something cold and hard, steely almost, as she allowed her palm to grip what she suspected to be the handle of her knife come nail file and turned to face the officer. Like a coiled spring she felt the tension rise, muscles she didn't now she had preparing to act as one as she gave the officer a friendly smile and replied.

"Good morning officer." She responded, hand tightening around the knife as she surveyed the area for any potential partner. These guys very rarely travelled alone. "Is there a problem?"

"Is this your vehicle?" The officer enquired as he allowed his attention to turn to the Plymouth, the hulking red vehicle standing proudly behind her. Following his gaze Tiffany also turned and admired the car.

"Why yes, it is." She smiled, her body temperature beginning to rise as she began to sweat. "Is there a problem?"

"Problem? Hell no." The officer laughed as he lifted his hat slightly and rocked back on his haunches. "The only problem is you don't see these babies on the roads nowadays."

"I'm sorry?" Tiffany asked with a sigh of relief as she noticed a figure leave the motel office and begin to head towards another of the cars parked along the row, one of Best Western's other satisfied clients off to face their destiny.

"No ma'am. You want to see cars like this these days you got to go to the car shows." The officer continued as he stepped around Tiffany, stopping and inspecting the interior. "My old man used to have one just like it. Purred like a lioness."

"This is my husband's." Tiffany spun on the spot and relaxed, withdrawing the keys from her bag and sliding them into the lock on the car door, the mechanism levering open as she twisted her wrist.

"Sure is a beauty." The officer whispered as he stepped back and allowed Tiffany to open the door. "Mind if I take a look inside?"

"Sure thing Sweetface." Tiffany giggled, gesturing inside with her free hand as the car further along roared into life and began to back out of its parking bay.

"This really is something." The officer laughed as he inspected the Plymouth's interior, emerging slowly after a good sixty seconds as he stood upright and walked to the front of the car, enthusiasm in his manner as he reached the hood and fell to his knees.

"Looks like the fender took some beating." He said as Tiffany walked over, heels clicking along the asphalt as she stooped to examine the mangled chrome trim now in the officer's grip.

"Raised kerb." She lied, mentally recalling the incident with the second Sarah Pirce. "I need to get that fixed before my husband finds sees it."

"Not be happy huh?" The officer asked, Tiffany giving a shake of her head.

"I don't imagine he will be when I see him." She smirked. "But it's like my mother used to say. Accidents will happen."

"Can't argue with that I guess." The officer gave a sympathetic smile. "I'm sure he'll understand."

"I doubt it." Tiffany laughed.

"Got a bit of a temper has he?"

"You have no idea." Tiffany said as she approached the open door of the Plymouth and began to climb inside. "No offence officer, but I really do have somewhere I need to be."

"No problem ma'am." The officer replied as he raised his hat slightly and stepped backwards from the car. "Thanks for humouring me. You take care now."

"And you Sweetface." Tiffany replied as she fired up the engine and let her lips curl into a mischievous grin. Watching as the officer returned to his patrol car, Tiffany shifted the car into reverse and backed slowly out into the parking lot, the engine beneath the hood rumbling loudly as she did so, stopping briefly before changing into first and moving off, the officer giving one final wave as she pulled onto the highway and into the traffic.

'Now to make a phone call.' Tiffany thought as she resumed her day.

She'd only been on the road ten minutes, the facility constantly signposted as she noticed the distance counting down gradually, when she happened upon a layby filled with cars. The roadside cafe, basically a steel cargo container with hole for a counter, sent an aroma of bacon, eggs, sausages and tomatoes spiralling into the late morning air as she left the Plymouth and threw the heavy door closed. Striding across the dirt strewn concrete and past the row of trucks parked beside the cafe, she yanked open the door of the phonebooth and lifted the receiver, inserting a quarter as she dialled the number for the facility, now engrained in her memory. Sure enough the call connected. The ringing tone echoing down the line with an occasional crackle of static as she waited anxiously for somebody to answer. It didn't take long, the phone ringing only a handful of times before the line burst into life and a male voice calmly identified itself.

"Illinois State." The voice began. "Randy speaking."

"Oh... Good morning." Tiffany replied, hesitant and stammering as she tried to relax. "I'm wondering if you could help me."

"That depends Miss." Randy replied. "What can I do for you?"

"I'm wanting to arrange a visit if that's possible." Tiff asked, closing her eyes as she prepared for the worst.

"I can do that." Randy politely answered, a pause as Tiffany heard him straining, reaching for something. "Do you have a request slip?"

"I'm sorry, a what?" Tiffany asked once more.

"A request slip. Our residents send them when they want to invite somebody to arrange a visit." Randy explained, Tiffany's heart dropping as she suddenly found a potential obstacle blocking her way.

"I'm sorry." Tiffany replied. "I don't."

"Right." Randy sighed. "I'm afraid that's usually how these things are arranged. They request somebody, we send a slip, then that person phones and arranges their visit. Who is it you're wanting to visit?"

Tiffany felt a lump in her throat. Her heart beating so fast as she felt her chance slipping away. Her mind racing as she felt the phonebooth begin to close in on her, the name evading her lips as she began to answer, remembering at the final second.

"Karen Barclay."

The line fell quiet. Too quiet for Tiffany's liking as she found the pause broken after a few seconds.

"You should have said." Randy replied with a slight laugh. "Reporter or cop?"

"I'm sorry?" Tiffany asked, astounded.

"The only people that come really. Apart from one other guy. All we hear from that one are requests for cops and journalists. Which are you?"

"Reporter." She answered before she had time to think. The words rolling off her tongue automatically without a second thought.

"Really?" Randy answered, a surprised tone tinting his voice. "Thought you guys had stopped returning her calls."

"Well," Tiffany began to answer, regain her composure with every second that passed. "We're putting a fresh spin on things. Looking at it from a new angle."

"I see." Randy replied emotionless. "When are you wanting to come in?"

"I'm in the area, so how about this afternoon?" Tiffany asked, screwing her eyes shut as she waited for the response.

"We can do that." Randy replied. "How does three thirty sound?"

"Perfect." Tiffany beamed.

"Great. I'll let Karen know you're coming." Randy said. "Just do me a favour."

"What's that?" Tiff asked.

"Don't go overboard with this doll thing. She's still pretty convinced and the last thing we need is her getting excited."

"Oh you can trust me," Tiffany said with a grin. "I'll be very gentle."

And with that she replaced the phone, the cradle emitting a low click as the call ended and Tiffany turned and slid the door of the phone booth open, the enchanting smells of the roadside cafe instantly entering her nostrils once more as she stepped into the morning air and approached the counter of the cafe. With time to kill, and a big day ahead of her, she guessed the best thing to do was try and eat something. Despite the butterflies in her stomach, breakfast was the most important meal of the day.

As her mother used to say.

"Right, listen up people." Captain Senior hollered across the briefing room of Chicago Police Departments seventh precinct. Chairs scraped, feet scuffled across the heavily worn wooden floor, and voices hummed in unison, one collective murmur as the collection of officers assembled before him and took their seats. In the mix, fearing the next half hour of his life sat Officer Harold Wan, his partner Officer Patrick McCain pulling up a chair beside him and slouching to his seat, not a care in the world as he began to tap his weathered and chewed finger nails on the desk in front of them as the Captain continued.

"We had a plan yesterday." Senior began as the room fell silent, striding to the wide open door to the briefing room and throwing it closed with one strong, firm push of his arm. "Now I want to know what happened to it."

Returning to the front of the room, Captain Senior flicked the light switch and cast the room into darkness, a projector firing into life overhead as an image of Sarah Pirce's mutilated corpse found itself plastered cross the wall of the room. The officers sat and stared, the majority unflinching, seemingly unmoved by the image as Harold Wan closed his eyes and turned his head, the memory already providing a sleepless night. Sitting on the couch of her apartment Sarah's body slumped forward, the multiple knife wounds evident as blood began to coagulate upon her clothes. The vacant expression adorning her face lending the image an eerie feeling as she sat at peace. Her last moments full of blissful ignorance. Behind her, scrawled across the living room wall in what the officers assumed to be Sarah's blood, were words that still made Officer Wan's skin crawl.

'**I DIED IN '88!'**

The blood had dried into the magnolia paint upon the wall, but had still found the opportunity to drip when applied, making the words look childish and hurried in appearance.

"You all seeing this?" The Captain barked at his underlings as he stretched out an arm and gestured towards the picture on the wall, the brutal realism on display as he spat through gritted teeth. "Those words! 'I DIED IN '88!'"

Silence among the gathering of officers.

"We're being fucking toyed with!" Senior continued as he retracted his arm. "Whoever's doing this is taking time out to leave us calling cards."

The silence remained. A pause before Captain Senior continued, gesturing once more to the graphic image gracing the briefing room wall.

"This," He turned and monitored his crew. "This message, 'I died in '88!'' goes no further! You all understand? I don't want the press getting wind of it and whipping up a frenzy. This stays between us!"

Nods all around as, allowing the silence of the room to linger slightly, Senior composed himself and approached his desk, hitting a button as the image of Sarah Pirce disappeared and the gathered officers found themselves faced with another picture altogether. Slightly chubby, with an unkempt beard and wavy, shoulder length hair beginning to cover his high visibility jacket the picture of the man stared calmly into the room as Captain Senior hollered once again.

"Ladies and gentlemen I give you Marcus Van Sleen."

"Who?" McCain found himself automatically asking as eyes fell upon him.

"This is our witness people." Senior smiled. "Our only witness too I might add. See Mr Van Sleen thinks he saw our killer entering the lobby of the building as he left for work yesterday."

"So we have a description?" A random voice called out.

"Indeed we do." Senior strode to the front of the room, the projector flashing as the image changed. The image now greeting the assembly of police officers was a hastily cobbled together photo-fit, gasps ringing around the room as the reality of the situation sank in. Long dark hair, plump cheeks and pouting lips, the put together picture of the woman Van Sleen described hung on the wall.

"Jesus, that's a woman!" McCain gasped, Wan sitting beside him now narrowing his eyes as he observed the face.

"Officer McCain your powers of observation never cease to amaze me." Captain Senior replied, a low murmur of laughter rippling across the room.

"Are we sure?" McCain asked still shocked.

"Everything adds up Officer McCain." Captain Senior said. "Our witness identified our girl to be carrying the box we found in Sarah Pirce's apartment. The contents of which appeared to be a wreath, with a sash, that acknowledged the passing of Miss Pirce."

"I saw her." Wan calmly stated as his memory ignited into life, the entire room turning as one and facing him.

"I bet you did." Captain Senior's smile disappeared. "Walked straight in the front door. Probably straight past your squad car. According to Mr Van Sleen our girl is probably about early to mid-thirties. Attractive, long dark hair, the usual. Mr Van Sleen even held the door to the lobby open for her."

"So that's how she got inside!" McCain nodded.

"It is indeed Officer McCain." Senior continued. "Needless to say the enormity of the situation hasn't been lost on our witness. He was apprehensive about coming forward at first, given the severity of this event. But I have assured him that Chicago's finest are able to provide him with adequate surveillance and protection. More than we afforded the late Sarah Pirce at least."

"How do you mean Captain?" A voice shot from the crowd.

"Starting immediately I want somebody outside Mr Van Sleen's apartment. Not the building but his actual apartment. I want his door monitored twenty four seven for any sign of suspicious activity. Officer McCain, that's where you come in."

The eyes of the briefing room suddenly found themselves cast on Officer McCain as he slumped back in his chair, head back and a groan escaping his lips.

"You want me to babysit this guy?" McCain asked as he flashed a look of disbelief towards his superior.

"Protect him McCain." Senior replied. "Last time I checked that was in your job description."

"And what about him?" McCain lifted his hand, thumb extended as he gestured to the seat beside him and Officer Wan. "The kid can barely wipe his nose without me."

"I have another job for Officer Wan." Captain Senior grinned as he leaned toward McCain before straightening up and approaching the light switch, a massive hand throwing the room into light. "Right, on your feet people. I want squad cars outside the remaining four Pirce households, constant communications. If Sarah Pirce goes to the bathroom I want to know about it."

The deafening scrape of metal on wood once again reverberated around the briefing room as the group of officers stood noisily and began to approach the door, a low hum of chatter as they left, Captain Senior feeling the need to raise his voice as they did so.

"Officer Wan remain seated, please!"

Feeling his heart drop, Wan sank back into the plastic, moulded seat and watched McCain shoot him a look of empathy as he left. The kind of look that said 'I'd rather it was me' but also said 'I'm glad it isn't.' As the room emptied Harold Wan felt an impending doom as the Captain approached the briefing room door and gently closed it behind the last officer, locking it from the inside before turning and marching over. Pulling aside the seat previously occupied by officer McCain, the Captain lowered himself and gave a sigh.

"Hell of a discovery you boys made yesterday."

"You could say that sir." Wan answered with a strained sigh of his own.

"You know nobody could have seen that coming." Senior empathised, sensing the doubt and regret clouding Wan's head.

"If I'm being honest, that doesn't make it any easier sir."

"I know." The Captain gave a nod of his head. "Which is why I think it's best if I reassign you. Temporarily of course."

Officer Wan gave the Captain a look of surprise and curiosity. What did reassign mean? Did he, deep down, believe this was Wan's fault? Did he think Wan wasn't up to the job? Or was it both? Taking deep breath and composing himself, Wan knew that the manner in which he accepted the Captain's decision could possibly dictate his immediate future at Chicago P.D.

"Whatever you think is for the best sir." He responded with a look of unquestioned acceptance. "What did you have in mind?"

"Well I know you're just as determined behind a desk as you are on the streets." Captain Senior clasped his hands together and leaned in towards the young officer. "So here's your assignment. I want you to go digging. Find out whatever you can."

"Sir?" Wan asked confused.

"Here's what we know." Senior mused as he began. "Somewhere out there, in the middle of Chicago, is a dark haired, female in her early-thirties that seems to have a grudge against a woman called Sarah Pirce. To be honest, I don't think she knows which one, which is the reason for this little spree of hers. Now I want you to get down to records and see what you can dig up. What you can find on anybody called Sarah Pirce over the last twenty or so years. Murder, extortion, kidnap, I don't care if it's a god damn parking ticket."

"That's fair enough I guess sir." Wan agreed as he thought about how best to start his search. "Makes sense in the long run."

"That apartment. She left us a message. 'I died in '88!'. Now maybe something happened in 1988 and that's the root of this entire shit storm we currently find ourselves in. If that's the case, then whatever it was we need to know."

"Yes sir." Wan nodded once more.

"Then what are you waiting for?" Senior said as he stood suddenly. The chair scraping with an unholy screech as he did. Officer Wan also stood to attention and without a second thought began to stride across the briefing room floor, laying a hand on the door handle and stopping dead in his tracks as his superior called out to him one last time.

"I'm not sure how long until we have another body on our hands." Captain Senior spoke calmly, his words firm and his tone strict.

"Don't worry sir." Wan gave a confident nod of his head. "If there's anything to tie all this together then I'll find it."

"Very good Wan." Senior responded. "But remember. You find anything, you come to me."

And with that Officer Wan pulled open the door of the briefing room and stepped into the busy hall of the precinct, leaving the Captain stood soaking in the silence of the room.

Whatever next?

Making his way along the corridor, Captain Senior took his steps quickly. An avalanche of nausea bearing down on him as he marched along. Pictures of retired officers whizzed by, a blur as he became lost in his own thoughts. They finally had an eye witness. More importantly they had a description and knew exactly what they were up against. Well, perhaps not exactly what they were up against but they knew a hell of a lot more than they did twenty four hours ago. The question still remained though. What was this all about? This girl obviously had some grievance against these women. But what in God's name drove somebody to commit a series of such heinous acts? There was the key alright. Identifying a motive. Do that and you were halfway there, that was rule one, the very first thing he'd learned at the academy. Right now though, they had nothing. No CCTV footage, the apartments of North Lakeshore Drive not being equipped with such facilities. All they did have was a hurriedly put together photo-fit of what was assumed to be their girl. Mumbling the occasional greeting to the passing members of staff, Captain Senior reached the door to his office and stepped inside, the murmur of voices dying instantly as he closed the door behind him and strode across the luxuriously deep navy carpet towards his desk. Slumping to his seat behind the thick, dark and heavily lacquered desk, he surveyed the surface as the soft leather of his seat absorbed him and began to mould itself around his generous physique. Taking a deep breath, he sat forward and grabbed the assortment of mail piled neatly before him.

'Can it possibly get any worse?' He thought to himself as he started flipping through the envelopes, stopping dead in his tracks and feeling his blood run cold as he suddenly noticed something odd. A manila coloured envelope, about the size of an A4 sheet of paper, immediately stood out as he hurriedly thumbed through the bundle. Not because of the colour or size as such, but more the writing. All he other envelopes were either professionally printed or written by hand.

But this one...

This one was different. Captain Senior's name and address graced the surface of the envelope, but not in the usual manner. Instead, each word had been done individually, one letter at a time and had been crafted from clippings from what Senior correctly assumed to be one of the many tabloids readily available across the city. That feeling of nausea once again rearing its ugly head Senior lifted the envelope free and threw the rest across the desk in front of him as he sat forward and inspected the envelope carefully. Hands trembling, he hooked a thumb beneath the seal and tore straight across, reaching inside and withdrawing a solitary piece of paper, the words once again crafted letter by letter using glue and newspaper clippings. Immediately he understood. This was a landmark moment, completely unexpected as he read the simple, short letter.

**caPtAiN**

**S. PiRCe 1 – sHOt fOuR tiMEs buT siX SHoTs FirEd**

**s. piRCe 2 – ShoT aFTeR lEaVInG hiGH gRoVe HotEl**

**S. PiRce 3 – yOu FouND mY MesSAgE**

**NoW thAt I hAve yOuR AttENtiOn pLeAse LisTeN**

**LeavE PirCe cASe AloNe**

**CoNsiDeR thIs A WArniNg**

Shaking as he lifted his free hand and massaged his temples, Captain Senior couldn't believe it.

Contact.

Pulling into the parking lot of Illinois State Mental Facility, Tiffany guided the Plymouth across the smooth tarmac and applied the brakes, the car creaking to a stop as she twisted her ignition and felt the engine die. Looking across the parking lot, from her seat behind the wheel, she found herself pleasantly surprised. The building looked incredibly friendly and seemed to greet people in a much less hostile way than she had first imagined. It seemed that TV and the many countless movies had somewhat exaggerated the medieval, gothic, decayed look of 'mad houses' and 'asylums' over the years. The front of the building seemed rather modern, the glass front inviting her in as she grabbed her bag from the passenger seat and stepped from the car into the afternoon breeze, the sun slowly disappearing over the fields to her right as she locked the car door and strode towards the entrance, the sign beside the door asking visitors to ring the bell for assistance. Lifting a nervous arm and giving the bell a press, Tiffany was greeted by a friendly voice from within the reception.

"Can I help?" The voice asked.

"Tiffany Ray." She replied with a smile and a wave through the door. "I have an appointment with Karen Barclay?"

"One moment Miss Ray." The voice came back, the intercom dying for a few seconds before a low buzz sounded from the door, the lock retracting and allowing the door to swing open as Tiffany pulled it open and stepped inside. The inside of the building was even more impressive. Immaculately clean and very sterile, as Tiffany approached the reception and found herself greeted by a male orderly, his green smock and warm smile relaxing her as she observed his name badge and found it to be Randy from their earlier phone conversation.

"Miss Ray." Randy extended a long, muscular arm and began shaking her hand gently as she came to a stop. "Got to admit we weren't sure whether you'd show up or not."

"Oh?" Tiffany said, surprised.

"We get a lot of cancellations." Randy continued. "We figured this whole thing had been put to bed and the world moved on. Obviously, somebody still cares."

"You can say that again." Tiffany laughed, watching as Randy opened a thick leather bound book and pushed it towards her, rotating the book as he did so.

"If you could just print your name there, company name here and then sign on the dotted line." Randy asked, pointing to each respective area of the page. "Just helps us keep check of who's been in. Am I okay to check your bag?"

"My bag?" Tiffany asked as she began to scrawl her false details across the page. "Sure. Any reason?"

"Sharp objects, contraband." Randy reasoned. "Better to be safe than sorry."

Signing her name and thanking her lucky stars she had removed her knife, Tiffany placed the pen on the top of the desk and watched as Randy slowly picked through the contents of her bag. The contents were sparse at very best, Tiffany traveling very light indeed as Randy zipped the bag closed and returned it with a smile.

"Do you have your press accreditation?" He asked.

"Jesus no." Tiffany sighed, not entirely sure what that was.

"No worries. Amazing how many of you guys don't bother with it these days." Randy said, with a chuckle. "Come on, I'll take you down."

Returning the smile and retrieving her bag, Tiffany picked up the pace and followed Randy to the security door, heels echoing across the open lobby as she walked quickly. Scanning his security card and hearing the door emit a low buzz, Randy pulled it open and gestured Tiffany to go through, the amazing white corridor beyond almost blinding as she stopped and waited for Randy to follow. Turning to the left, they began to walk to corridor, the series of open doors either side giving Tiffany an in depth look into the running of the facility. Counselling rooms, activity rooms, common rooms and a dining area were remarkably friendly and, dare she say, normal. She had always had an image in her head of electroshock therapy rooms. Dirty overcrowded cells. People screaming uncontrollably. But this place didn't seem anything like that. If anything it was more like a hotel. Finding themselves coming to a stop outside a door labelled 'Visiting Room 1', Randy once again scanned his security card and the pair watched as the door swung open, the lone table and chairs waiting patiently inside.

"If you want to have a seat I'll go get Karen." Randy gestured with a smile as he fished something from his pocket, gave it a twist and handed it to Tiffany. Closer inspection revealed it to be a necklace of some sort. A loop of grey wire with a small white cylinder attached, a green light flashing intermittently above a small circular button. "Although before we do anything, I have to insist you wear this."

"Okay." Tiffany accepted the device. "What is it?"

"Security pendant." Randy answered. "Place it around your neck. Any trouble then press the button and we'll be here in seconds."

"Think that will be necessary?" Tiffany asked.

"Better safe than sorry Miss Ray." He reasoned, gesturing her inside once more.

Slipping the pendant over her head and allowing it to rest between the opening of her blouse, just above her chest, Tiffany returned the smile as she stepped into the cold, sterile room. Removing the strap of her handbag from her shoulder, she jumped as the door closed with small bang behind her. The plastic table and chairs resting before her looked incredibly uncomfortable, but she figured would have to do. Probably to conform to some incredibly tedious health and safety act, just in case a patient decided to go nuts and attack a visitor. Pulling a chair from beneath the table and placing her jacket over the back rest, she took a seat and pulled herself up to the desk, reaching to her handbag now resting on the floor and grabbing a small notepad and a pen.

'Got to look the part.' She thought to herself.

Tiffany found herself alarmed as a door on the far side of the room suddenly jerked open. Previously well concealed, the door matching the walls of the room incredibly well, Tiffany watched on in wonder and anticipation as slowly but surely the small, frail woman emerged from the corridor beyond. Blonde wavy hair, standing a good couple of inches shorter than Tiffany the woman looked strangely familiar, yet weathered. Like sleep was a thing of the past. As though she fought a constant battle night after night. Eyes slightly sunken, dark circles ever present and so thin she looked on the verge of death. Was this the same woman she had read about over the years? Could it really be? Everything she had read and heard had indicated some beast of a woman. Fiercely fighting to prove herself sane and protect her son, Tiffany had built a mental image many moons ago and fair to say it was far from what she now found before her. Entering the room fully, Karen slowly approached the table, eyes on Tiffany all the way, unflinching as the door closed behind look was an apprehensive one at best. Maybe even hostile as she placed one hand on the surface of the table and the other on the chair, pulling it out and taking a seat as she let her eyes wander over Tiffany, top to bottom before returning to the top. Sitting and pulling herself up to the table, Karen narrowed her eyes and bit her lip. Like she was trying to work something out inside her head. Then suddenly she spoke.

"You're new." Karen's voice was low, full of curiosity as she examined her visitor.

"Miss Barclay..." Tiffany took a deep breath and began, finding her introduction halted as Karen instantly intervened.

"Mrs Barclay!" She corrected her. "People seem to forget that."

"I'm sorry." Tiffany whispered, attempting to regain what little composure she had started with.

"Never mind." Karen sat back in her chair and crossed her arms. "Well, I must say this is a surprise!"

"I can imagine Mrs Barclay." Tiffany smiled, finding the fragile looking woman before her seemed to be anything but.

"Call me Karen." Karen said, taking a lung full of air as she appeared to loosen slightly. "So what exactly can I do for you Miss...?"

"Ray." Tiffany smiled sweetly.

"Okay Miss Ray." Karen said. "I'll put it another way. Why are you here?"

"Well let's just say this case has interested me for some time." Tiffany smiled, feeling the irony was somewhat lost on her new friend.

"Which part?" Karen asked, leaning across the table, palms flat across the surface.

"All of it." Tiffany began to hit a stride. "I want to find out whatever I can. Straight from the horses mouth so to speak."

"I see." Karen pursed her lips and looked around the room. "And who are you working for?"

"Working for?" Tiffany asked.

"Tribune? Times? Echo?" Karen continued. "Why is a tabloid suddenly interested in the absurd rantings of some middle-aged widow? Nobody cared all those years ago. In fact now I come to think about it all it did was make me a laughing stock and help place my son into care."

"Well it's only a small town thing." Tiffany lied as she tapped the end of her pen on her notebook.

"Forget it then." Karen slammed the palms of her hands upon the surface of the table and stood, the plastic seat vibrating across the linoleum floor as she did so.

"Wait." Tiffany gasped, Karen pausing as she stood, arms spread wide as she still found herself supported by the table.

"No, you wait." Karen spat through gritted teeth. "I'm not prepared to go through this again. Re-live one of the worst periods of my life. All for the satisfaction of some backwoods tabloid. Now stop wasting my time!"

"What if I told you I wasn't?" Tiffany folded her arms and leaned across the table, desperate. "That maybe I could help you?"

"Help me?" Karen laughed as she flopped back into her seat and threw her head back. "About eight years too late don't you think?"

"But what if I believed you?" Tiffany carried on. "Told you I could find evidence. Prove that what you said really did happen?"

The laughter finished as suddenly as it began as Karen lowered her head and locked eyes with Tiffany, a look of anger emerging upon her face as her lips shifted into a snarl and she spat with vitriol.

"I'd say you were full of shit." Karen scolded her.

"Maybe." Tiffany sat back and crossed her legs under the table. "Maybe not. Put it this way. What do you have to lose?"

Karen's eyes flitted from left to right as she considered Tiffany's words. Although she hated to admit it, the young lady had a point.

"Alright." Karen nodded. "What do you need from me?"

"Everything." Tiffany answered. "Tell me everything. Starting at the beginning."

Karen exhaled as she sat back and ran her hands through her hair, the wavy, yet greasy locks swept from her face as she rubbed her eyes, obviously tired.

"I'm sure you know already." Karen began, Tiffany interjecting immediately.

"Just humour me Karen." She spoke softly as she grabbed her own and opened up the notebook. "I want to know everything."

"It was November, 1988." Karen began. "My little boy's birthday was coming up, he was about to turn six years old."

"Okay..." Tiffany said, allowing her to continue.

"All he wanted was a Good Guy doll." Karen reasoned as her eyes opened fully, a wild look appearing. "He'd got everything else you see. PJs, tool box, everything. He was even addicted to the cartoon. I knew he wanted a doll, but they were so expensive."

"Right. So you couldn't afford one?"

"Not really." Karen carried on. "But I was doing everything I could to make sure bills were paid, rent was on time. I was working overtime and planning to buy him one later on in the year. Christmas time maybe. He needed clothes you see, and his little face when he opened his birthday present and found clothes. I felt so bad."

Karen buried her head in her hands as she sighed.

"I just wanted to make him happy." She finished.

"So how did you end up with the doll?" Tiffany asked.

"I was working. It was the day of Andy's birthday and my friend, Maggie, told me there was a pedlar behind the department store where we worked with a Good Guy doll. Cheap too."

"I see."

"I mean which parent wouldn't want to make their child happy?" Karen sobbed as she began to breakdown, arms laid across the table as she dropped her head and cried into the sleeve of her sweater.

"Did this pedlar happen to mention how he came into possession of the doll?" Tiffany asked.

"No." Karen shook her head, eyes on Tiffany's hand, writing frantically as Karen spoke. "It never occurred to me to ask."

"So you bought the doll, gave it to Andy, what happened next?" Tiffany asked, trying to hide her fascination, enjoying every sentence as the words left Karen Barclay's lips.

"I brought the doll home." Karen lifted her head and continued. "But I had to work that night. My friend Maggie said she'd babysit. I went to work, came home and found the police in my apartment. She'd been killed."

"Maggie?" Tiffany asked, Karen answering with a slow, gentle nod. "So who did the police suspect?"

"Andy." Karen teared up as she stared into Tiffany's eyes.

"But you blamed the doll?"

"No," Karen started. "Not at first. But then the next day there was an incident. I dropped Andy at school, he insisted on taking Chucky. We found out later that Andy and Chucky sneaked out and made their way downtown. There was an explosion, a man died. Andy was there, with Chucky."

"And you think this was orchestrated by the doll too?"

"Listen! The man inside that building when it went up in flames was a guy called Eddie Caputo!" Karen paused to assess Tiffany's reaction. There was none. "Eddie Caputo was the driver that left Charles Lee Ray to be shot dead by the police the night he died. Now I'd say that's more than a fucking coincidence wouldn't you?"

"I see what you're getting at." Tiffany scribbled in her book. "So you think the doll was getting revenge?"

"Yes." Karen laughed. "We didn't think it then, but that night Andy was being monitored at a psychiatric hospital. They thought it was him. That this whole Chucky thing was his way of dealing with some mental health issue."

"So what made you so sure it wasn't?" Tiffany asked.

"That night I brought Chucky home and I was a mess." Karen sighed. "I moved his box and that was when the batteries fell out."

"Batteries?" Tiffany asked, stunned.

"Don't you see?" Karen asked. "He'd been moving and talking for the last two days without any batteries. So I checked. I opened his battery compartment and found it empty. Then, when I threatened to throw him on the fire he came alive in my hands. He attacked me, I fought him off, but then he bit me before running off. I lost him."

"So what did you do next?" Tiffany asked. "Go to the police?"

"I tried." Karen sat back and placed her hands behind her head. "God knows I tried. But do you think they believed me?"

"I see what you're getting at." Tiffany reasoned as she continued writing. "So what next?"

"I went looking for the pedlar."

"That sold you the doll?"

"Yes." Karen continued. "I found him, it turned violent, but luckily Mike had followed me down there."

"Mike?" Tiffany asked surprised.

"Mike Norris." Karen sat back. "I should have mentioned him. He was one of the cops from my apartment the night Maggie died. He stepped in and forced the pedlar to tell us where he got the doll. Not that he liked the answer. I knew then that he was spooked."

"So what did you and this Mike find out?"

"We found out that he got the doll from a burnt out toy store down in the city. When he found out, Mike turned silent. I asked him what had upset him and that's when he told me."

"Told you what exactly?"

"That was where Charles Lee Ray had been shot and killed, and that it was Mike that killed him."

Tiffany's hand suddenly stopped writing. Sitting completely still, the silence deafening she lifted her head and felt her heart beating frantically, her ribs literally pounding as they battled to contain the pressure. She hadn't expected that, not by a long shot, the memories of that following morning flooding back and hitting her like a freight train. So the bastard that shot Chucky had actually been assigned to the freak show that followed? Gathering herself, Tiffany continued.

"So after this Mike believed you were telling him the truth?" Tiffany asked as she took a deep breath and tried to relax.

"You would think so right?" Karen laughed as she sat back in her chair, the flimsy plastic back rest bending as she did so. "But no. Instead he dropped me at home and insisted I was crazy. It was only afterwards that I found out he returned to the station and looked through Chucky's file. Then, as he was driving home, Mike said that Chucky attacked him with a knife. Luckily he was able to fend him off."

"A knife?" Tiffany asked, leaning across the table. "Doesn't sound like the Chucky I know."

"Excuse me?" Karen asked as she sat back and gave Tiffany a puzzled look.

"I just mean that the more you research, the more you find out that Charles Lee Ray's preferred method of execution was asphyxiation." Tiffany recovered hastily, a voice inside her head berating her for almost slipping up.

"He apparently tried that too. I think he was desperate enough to try anything." Karen continued, a wariness to her tone as she spoke, eyes never leaving Tiffany's face. She'd examined Tiffany over and over, ever since entering the room as a matter of fact, and there was something she just couldn't put her finger on. Beneath the bosom of her blouse Karen could make out some kind of tattoo, hovering slightly above her right breast. What it said was anybody's guess, but the loudness of the deep red ink lent her visitor a somewhat trailer trash appearance.

"Desperate?" Tiffany broke the silence as she scribbled on. "In what way?"

"In that he threatened to kill Mike Norris and Eddie Caputo in the minutes before he died."

"Really?"

"That's what Mike told me, yes."

"So after this failed and incredibly desperate attempt on Mike Norris's life, what happened next?" Tiffany queried, a hint of sarcasm flying straight over Karen's head.

"The next time I saw Mike was the day after." Karen nodded as she spoke, the cold enveloping her as she wrapped her arms around herself and began to slowly rock back and forth to keep warm, her eyes locked on Tiffany's hand as the writing continued. "I couldn't sleep so I found out where Chucky lived and went check out his apartment. Mike guessed where I was and met me there."

A spark ignited in Tiffany's memory, a burning that tore through the years and delved deep into the past as Karen's words brought back an image. Suddenly there Tiffany was back in 1988, sat outside Chucky's apartment in the days following his death, watching from her cab parked further up the hill as a man and woman raced from the brown fronted building and jumped quickly into the police car parked outside. She had been unable to recall the officer's name at the time, and was completely clueless as to who the blonde haired woman in the camel hair coat could be. But now she knew. The officer in question, the man she had recognised at the time from the seemingly endless news bulletins regarding Chucky's death, was none other than Detective Mike Norris. The woman, had been none other than Karen Barclay. The very same Karen Barclay now sat less than a yard from her across the flimsy, plastic table of Illinois State Mental Facility. She could kick herself now. That was where she had seen Karen Barclay before, her instincts kicking up a gear as she had entered the room earlier, Tiffany finding her instantly familiar in some way yet shrugging off the gut feeling. She had recognised her because she had been there eight years ago and watched her leave Chucky's apartment building. She could remember it now, as clear as day, just moments after her confrontation with an enraged John Bishop. The way they had raced from the scene, not a word spoken as though there was somewhere else, somewhere much more important that they needed to be. Calming her heart and taking a deep breath, Tiffany shook away the cobwebs and continued probing, digging deeper as she found a rabbit hole of unknown information suddenly widening and swallowing her whole.

"So after you left Chucky's apartment what happened next?" Tiffany asked. "Where did you go that was so important?"

"So important?" Karen asked.

"You left in a hurry?" Tiffany nodded.

"Yes. We found a link to a man called John Bishop." Karen proceeded to fill the gaps as she told her tale, still wary of her visitor. "In Chucky's file there was a list of known accomplices and John Bishop was mentioned, along with Eddie Caputo and some woman. I forget the name. I just remember it had a 'Trailer-Trash' sound to it. The reason we knew to go to him was because his mugshot bore a strong resemblance to a man painted on one of the rooms in Chucky's apartment. There was a man. Kneeling. Obeying. It looked like Chucky. And the man he was kneeling before was the spitting image of John Bishop."

A pause of silence.

"Look, I know this sounds crazy, but you have to believe me." Karen pleaded.

This became even more incredible. Was she seriously saying that just minutes after leaving Chucky's apartment they headed to John Bishop's place? Where Tiffany had been just moments before? The irony almost knocked the air from her lungs.

"So what did you find when you arrived at John's apartment?" Tiffany quizzed her further, hand frantically working overtime to get everything down, build a fuller picture.

"We arrived too late." Karen lay her head in her hands as she rekindled the memory. "Chucky had already been."

"What?" Tiffany gasped in shock. How was that possible? The time frame between Tiffany leaving and Karen arriving with Mike surely had to be no more than fifteen, maybe twenty, minutes. Was she seriously suggesting that in the available time, Chucky had entered and dealt with John? Once more she felt a ripple of nausea creep over her body as the stark realisation hit home. Had she left her own apartment just ten minutes later that day, she would most probably have bumped into Chucky there and then. But wait. As she was leaving... The cab she called. She recollected the cab almost hitting a child as it set off, not getting a good look as the small figure headed down the narrow alleyway towards the apartments, but seeing the bright blue dungarees, the orange hair, the deep red sneakers... That was no child. That was Chucky! How she could kick herself now, the opportunity she had missed out on by a matter of minutes. She felt her head spinning as Karen's voice brought her back round.

"I said we were too late. Chucky had already been." Karen looked up, concern evident as she carried on. "Are you alright?"

"Yes." Tiffany smiled as she gathered her thoughts. "Just a headache. I've had it all day. Please, continue."

"There was quite a lot of blood." Karen narrowed her eyes and appeared to zone out, almost as though she was there and relaying information from the scene. "He helped us. Before he died I mean. He was the one that taught Chucky how to do it you see. Put himself in the doll. According to him, Chucky was turning human, something to do with being in the doll too long. His heart was vulnerable. He said that the only way for Chucky to get out of the doll was to transfer his soul into the body of the very first person he told of his real identity."

"I see." Tiffany whispered, exasperated at the news. "Which would have been your son? Andy?"

Karen nodded.

"So we set off over to the hospital, to get Andy." Karen's voice had now become a whisper, faint and breathless. "But he wasn't there."

"Wasn't there?" Tiffany queried, enjoying the story, although trying her hardest to hide it.

"We spoke to a young girl. She said that Chucky had already been, and that he was looking for Andy, but nobody could find him."

"Where had he gone?" Tiffany asked.

"I'd always told him that if he ever found himself in trouble, then he had to go home. There was a key under the mat. So we headed home."

"Let me guess." Tiffany interrupted, causing Karen to look up, arms folded across the table and cradling her chin. "Chucky was already there?"

"We raced up to the apartment. It was cold. My god it was cold. Thunder was echoing through the building, lightning was flashing over the building and these clouds... They just seemed to gather overhead. It was terrifying, but not as bad as the chanting."

"I'm sorry." Tiffany seemed taken aback. "Chanting?"

"Yes." Karen nodded again. "I can hear it now. The very thought makes my blood run to ice. He was chanting, which seemed to make the air around us hard to breathe, like it was charged somehow, with static. I remember a name. Dambulluh, Dembella..."

"Damballa?" Tiffany interrupted, recalling the mural in Chucky's apartment.

"Yes..." Karen replied, astounded at just how much Tiffany knew.

"So what happened once you got inside?"

"It was horrible." Karen's eyes filled with tears as she spoke, her voice a quiver. "Andy was unconscious, and he had this... This thing kneeling over him. Mike and I got inside and pulled Chucky away from Andy."

"I can imagine he didn't like that." Tiffany gently intervened.

"You'd imagine right." Karen carried on. "He turned violent. I think he stabbed Mike in the leg then began to chase me and Andy through the apartment. We scuffled and I managed to throw him into fire."

"The fire?" Tiffany seemed shocked as Karen nodded once more, her face allowing a defiant smile to appear.

"He begged us." Karen said as she lifted her head and laughed. "Pleaded with us in fact. But there was nothing he could say. We set fire to the son of a bitch and watched him burn. We thought it was over. It was only when I sent Andy to get a first aid kit for Mike that we found out Chucky was still alive. I can picture him now. This charred, melted and burnt out black thing coming slowly towards us with the knife raised in its hand."

"He seems to have been pretty resilient." Tiffany gave a small chuckle of her own, Karen in turn sitting bolt upright and shooting her the hardest and sternest look Tiffany had ever seen.

"Resilient?" Karen snapped. "Are you kidding me? Are you getting some sick satisfaction from all this?"

"No," Tiffany began, feeling herself slowly losing control, along with what little trust she had already managed to build up. "I just mean he seemed like he took some finishing off."

"I put god knows how many bullets in that thing! By the end it was basically a head and a torso. One leg, one arm. But did it end there?"

"No?"

"Mike's partner, Jack, arrived." Karen wiped a tear from her eye as she spoke. "It came through the air vent and attacked him. There was another struggle. It was then that I finally put a bullet through his heart and he stopped moving. My god, I think back to that night every day and I can still hear his voice now."

Karen broke down slowly as she began to rock back and forth, faster than before as she closed her eyes tight and wept through gritted teeth.

"What did he say?" Tiffany asked, curiosity at fever pitch.

"Give me the boy and I'll let you live." Karen burst into tears as she finished, tears streaming over her cheeks and down her face. Sitting stunned, Tiffany allowed Karen a moment before breaking the silence and softly asking a question Karen had never once asked herself.

"Do you think he would?"

"Do I think who would what?" Karen replied, wiping away even more tears as she began to calm down.

"Do you think he would have let you live?" Tiffany asked. "If you'd have given him your son?"

"I don't know." Karen replied vacantly. "I was never going to do that. I would have given my life for my son. Even now. Any mother would do the same."

"So after all this went down, what happened next?" Tiffany asked. "Now that you finally killed the doll."

"Mike took us to the station. We all gave a statement. Although the looks everybody gave us made me wonder why we ever bothered."

"Didn't believe you?" Tiffany asked. "Not even with Mike and his partner backing you up?"

"I was hoping that would give us some kind of..." Karen paused as she pondered the word she should use, Tiffany chipping in.

"Validity?"

"Something like that." Karen nodded. "Just some weight, some punch, some leverage you know? That our story was legitimate."

"That didn't happen?"

"Not really. We stayed at Mike's that night. The next thing we knew, Jack Santos was withdrawing his statement."

"You're joking!"

"I wish I was." Karen laughed half hearted. "His superiors questioned his statement, along with Mike's, and applied pressure. Said there wasn't much of a future on the force for somebody making such ludicrous claims."

"And Mike?" Tiffany asked.

"Mike stuck to his story." Karen replied instantly with a nod, eyes shooting to the Tiffany's notebook as she tapped the table with her finger. "All the way. Even stood in a court of law and recited the series of events, word for word as they happened back then. Of course, this was after the media got wind of things and portrayed the two of us as mentally unbalanced to say the least. The toy company tried to say that maybe a disgruntled factory employee fiddled with Chucky's voice box. Other professionals claimed that maybe a gas leak, carbon monoxide, could have caused us to hallucinate. Imagine what happened."

"Do you not think that could be remotely possible?" Tiffany asked, willing to rule it out based on Karen's reply.

"I'm telling you now, this was no hallucination!" Karen spat, her words filled with vitriol. "Maggie, Eddie Caputo, John Bishop, Dr. Ardmore, do you think thy died because my aprtment had a god damn gas leak? I know what happened! I went back the day after and I saw that son of a bitch. Still there, still dead, blood all over my god damn wall. I lost my son through all of this, so don't you sit there and tell me this was the figment of my fucking imagination!"

"Okay, okay." Tiffany lifted her hands, palms extended in a calming motion. "Karen, can I just ask, did you have any knowledge of Charles Lee Ray before he died?" Tiffany asked.

"No." Karen answered. "I'd heard of the Lakeshore Strangler. But that was it. Half the city had heard of him."

"And you never knew the woman Charles Lee Ray kidnapped prior to his death?"

"No." Karen replied. "We never knew him, we never knew any kidnapped woman. It was just a chance meeting. We were unlucky. That doll could have gone to any number of families."

"Mrs Barclay I need to ask you one more question." Tiffany asked quietly, sensing Karen beginning to get worked up, grow tired of the meeting. "Did you hire a private investigator to look into your experiences and anything that happened afterwards?" A man by the name of Jack Fuller?"

"No." Karen seemed taken aback. "Why would I do that?"

"What about Detective Norris?"

"No." Karen again answered. "That was never something we considered. Mike could do all that himself if he needed to."

"A fair point." Tiffany nodded, a feeling of dismay sinking in as she realised Karen was telling the truth. "It's just..."

Suddenly Karen interrupted. Confusion evident as she sat and thought, as though reliving the conversation, eyes zipping left to right before finally centring on Tiffany as she began to take a series of rapid, shallow breaths.

"How did you know he was a detective?" Karen asked as she examined Tiffany with a renewed apprehension. This wasn't the first time she had felt this uneasiness as her visitor sat, pen in hand, quizzing her on every single little detail, delving deeper with every question as she almost seemed to take some sadistic enjoyment from the interview. No, there had been too many red flags. Whoever this girl was, she knew more than she was letting on, and Karen was willing to bet she wasn't a legitimate journalist either.

"You must have said." Tiffany lied, feeling the situation suddenly begin to evolve into something beyond her control.

"I never did." Karen shook her head as a smile began to form. "No, you knew!"

"I didn't." Tiffany tried to calm her once more.

"Yes you did!" Karen calmly replied, her voice stern, her eyes now locked on Tiffany who had begun to squirm awkwardly. As she sat in silence, returning Karen's glare, Karen took the opportunity to ask one more question, fear laying its and upon her shoulder as she dreaded the response from her mystery visitor. "Who are you?"

"You know who I am." Tiffany replied. "I'm here to help you. Tell your story..."

"Cut the bullshit!" Karen snapped back, standing as the chair screeched out behind her. "You're no reporter!"

"I..."

"I'm going to ask one more time." Karen cut her off immediately. "Who the fuck are you and why are you here?"

"I think I should go." Tiffany pushed her chair back and leant to her side, reaching for her bag in one fluid movement as the neck line of her blouse shifted slightly. Karen's eyes opened widely as a look of disbelief crossed her face, an anger streaking through her spine as she noticed the tattoo delicately placed above Tiffany's right breast. Before Tiffany could move, before she even knew what was happening, Karen struck. Throwing herself the length of the table, Tiffany looked up just as she connected, the two women falling to the floor as one as Tiffany felt the wind knocked from her lungs, a cloudiness taking over as she felt her head connect with the linoleum floor. Unable to defend herself she tried to let the haze clear as Karen swung a leg over her body and straddled Tiffany's stomach, clawing at her blouse and ripping it open as buttons flew in every direction, Karen lifting a hand to her mouth and screaming as she took in the view before her, Tiffany's tattoo now in full view, a single love heart of deep red suspended below a word that brought a fear to Karen's very soul.

'**Chucky.'**

As Karen screamed, the reverberation making Tiffany's ears ring, she suddenly remembered the pendant hanging from her neck, managing to grab it just in time and press the panic button as she heard an alarm instantly blare into life. Both doors to the room flew open as a succession of orderlies entered at pace, Karen still sat on Tiffany's chest as the final scream emerged from her mouth. Swinging a series of fists and connecting with Tiffany's face and ribs, the orderlies grabbed Karen by the arms and lifted her from her visitor. Arms flying, legs kicking, Karen fought as hard as she could a she let fly with a blood curdling scream and a torrent of abuse.

"THAT'S HIS BITCH!" She yelled, lungs almost bursting under the strain as she struggled against the group of men, arms and legs a blur as she jerked her head backwards and forwards, the white smocks of the facility staff swarming all over Karen as she continued.

"GET YOUR FUCKING HANDS OFF ME! IT'S HER YOU WANT! SHE'S THAT FUCKER'S WHORE!"

Without stopping to answer any questions, Tiffany grabbed her belongings and fled into the corridor, the right hook from Karen still leaving her jaded as she entered the sublime white hallway and hung followed the signs, the exit signposted to the right. The furore could be heard up and down the length of the complex as Tiffany walked along nursing her cheek, the pain beginning to peak. Nursing staff and other residents stepped from their rooms and offices to investigate the commotion, such was the noise as Karen's voce echoed along. Feet moving quicker with every step, Tiffany clutched her bag to her chest and pulled her blouse closed across her chest, approaching the exit and reaching for the door, almost finding herself knocked from her feet once more as it swung open and a man appeared from the lobby beyond. Briefly stopping to apologise, the man appeared to be in his early fifties, his weathered and slightly wrinkled face greeting Tiffany with a friendly smile as he held the door open for her to pass, turning his head towards Karen's meltdown in shock before apologising once more and setting off towards the eye of the storm. Sensing another feeling of recognition, Tiffany stopped as she headed through the door to the lobby and looked back down the corridor. The man had stopped also, doing the same as he turned and gave Tiffany a confused look before shaking his head and carrying on at a canter. Sensing the opportunity to leave without answering a plethora of questions Tiffany continued into the lobby and allowed the door to the corridor to slam closed behind her. Sat at the desk, a beaming smile running the width of his face, Randy rotated the guest book sat on the reception desk to face her as he stood and greeted Tiffany.

"Miss Ray." He laughed. "Leaving so soon? Don't forget to sign out... Jesus, what happened to your face?"

Massaging her cheek once more, Tiffany said nothing as she raced to the entrance, Karen's screams still ringing through the building, muffled and dull, but still audible. Reaching the door to the parking lot and grabbing the handle Tiffany pulled, her arm almost yanked from its socket as she found the door stuck fast. Another pull wielded the same result as Tiffany's anger finally got the better of her, a roar of frustration as she pulled again with no luck, eventually turning to Randy who stood open mouthed.

"OPEN THIS DOOR YOU FUCKING PRICK!" She screamed, Randy instantly stepping back as he pressed the door release button by the side of his desk. Grabbing the door handle once more, Tiffany pulled and found it finally free as she heaved it open and stepped into the dark, late evening air of the parking lot, rain cascading from the heavens and bouncing from the tarmac as the glow of the moon nestled over the freshly drenched floor. Pulling her leather jacket over her head and beginning to run Tiffany felt the water between her toes as her heels skipped along the floor, the legs of her jeans quickly soaked as she reached the car. Sliding the key into the door of the Plymouth Tiffany risked a glance back through the downpour, disturbed to see the middle aged man from just moments before come racing through the lobby door and frantically gesture to Randy, the facilities guest book immediately slipped beneath his nose as he ran his finger over the list of names and slammed the desk with the palm of his hand. Turning his head in the direction of the parking lot and laying his eyes on Tiffany he began to move. Sensing a confrontation, Tiffany ducked into her car and pulled the door closed, the rain hitting the windows of the car like bullets. Ramming the key into the barrel of the ignition and twisting, the engine of the Plymouth fired into life as Tiffany turned on the headlights and slipped the car into gear, reversing from her bay before working the transmission and heading to the exit of the parking lot. Suddenly she found the door to the lobby of the facility thrown open behind her, the man from the corridor emerging into the rain as Tiffany observed through her rear view mirror, watching as he raised a hand in her direction before turning on the spot and heading into the maze of parked cars. Wipers working overtime Tiffany swept her hair from her face as she followed the narrow, gravel track to the highway, alerted to the parking lot behind her as another pair of headlights flickered into life. The car in the parking lot reversed violently as Tiffany's eyes flitted from the road in front to the rear view mirror, skidding to a stop before lurching forward and after Tiffany's Plymouth. The highway was remarkably quiet as Tiffany gave the car some gas and joined the carriageway, pitch black all around as the wipers struggled to keep up with the ensuing storm, the rain slamming against the windscreen as the glass began to cloud over. Lifting a hand and wiping away the fog building up on the inside of the windscreen, Tiffany turned on the heaters and tried to focus on the road now whizzing by at an astonishing rate. Checking her rear view mirror once more, Tiffany was alarmed further to see the other pair of headlights had joined the highway behind her and were now quickly catching up. The scorching light burning into Tiffany's retinas she lowered her gaze and faced forward, blinking manically as she tried to keep the car straight, noticing the sound of an engine as the car behind pulled out to overtake. As the car drew level, Tiffany held her nerve and gripped the steering wheel tightly, glancing once or twice to her left and attempting to get a better look at the driver, no doubt the man from the corridor of the mental facility. Darkness filled the interior of the man's car, the only light the occasional reflection from a rare sign post. Although passing her pursuer in the corridor just moments ago, Tiffany found her memory blurred slightly, such was her rush to leave the premises. But there was no doubting it, she felt the same feeling she had felt as Karen Barclay entered the visiting room and sat across from her. She had seen this man before. But where? Pressing her foot to the floor, Tiffany felt the engine of the Plymouth snarl and snap as the engine laboured on, speed increasing as the car remained by her side, the silhouette sat in the driver's seat casting his eyes in her direction as he also applied a little extra gas and began to overtake, his car now passing, inch by inch, as Tiffany remained helpless. Watching on as the car finally passed she sat and watched as the car suddenly cut across the front of the Plymouth, Tiffany swinging the wheel to the right and only narrowly avoiding a collision as she braked as hard as she could. Sparks flew from the brake discs as the wheels seized and the hulking, leviathan of a vehicle skidded across the tarmac, a weightlessness taking over as the car left the highway and glided across the saturated grass verge that flanked the road. Steering wheel trembling under her grip, Tiffany clamped her eyes tightly closed as she noticed the tree approaching at some rate, the broad trunk not a welcoming sight as she braced herself for impact.

But it never came.

Instead, Tiffany took a deep breath and let time pass. Nature take its course as she eventually opened her eyes and breathed a sigh of relief, the base of the tree sitting inches from the driver's door and leaving the vehicle practically unscathed as Tiffany unclenched her teeth and allowed a ripple of laughter to exit her mouth, lungs straining as she did so, releasing her vice-like grip and letting her hands drop from the steering wheel. The engine had died long ago, cutting out as Tiffany applied the brake frantically and forgot to work the clutch, the mechanism starved of power as survival had become the priority. Taking a look around, the other car was nowhere to be seen. The entire area was pitch black, the only light coming from the headlights of the Plymouth as it now sat at a right angle to the road, the only thing on display being the grass banking that now rested before the car, the only noise being the rain that still hammered incessantly over every inch of the car. Releasing her seat belt Tiffany shuffled across the width of the cars interior and to the passenger door, reaching it and grabbing the handle, pulling it and feeling another rush of relief as they heavy, metal door swung open and offered her an escape. Grabbing her bag, Tiffany swung her legs over the ledge of the door and instantly felt the cold and wet grass around her feet as her heels sunk into the soggy ground. Casting a quick look down, Tiffany was about to curse her luck when she suddenly felt her head snap back. A tightness around her neck, her body following as she found herself pinned against the chassis of her car as a loan figure seized her by the throat. Struggling to breathe and finding the only light coming from within the Plymouth as the door remained open, Tiffany lifted her hands to the arm now holding her against the car and tried to break free. No joy as she raised her eyes and stared into the partially illuminated face of the same man from the corridor of the mental facility, his breath warm as he leaned in, face contorted in murderous rage as he calmly snarled through gritted teeth.

"What are you doing here?" He asked, his grip tightening. "Hasn't she been through enough?"

It was between shallow breaths that Tiffany allowed her eyes to observe the man's face in more detail. Somehow managing to mentally airbrush the wrinkles from his face, see through the facial hair scruffily growing along his jaw line and imagine him younger, the feeling of recognition hitting twice as hard as it had done with Karen just one hour previous. Inhaling whatever oxygen she could, Tiffany gave a defiant grin, the man tightening his grip even more as Tiffany's face was involuntarily positioned skywards, her words straining but still legible as she greeted her mystery assailant.

"Detective Norris," She gasped, as calm as she could given the circumstances. "What a lovely surprise."

"Don't give me that." Mike spat at, bringing his face up to hers. "I asked you a question. What are you doing here?"

"Visiting an old friend?" Tiffany joked, her breathing becoming more and more laboured as Mike's hand remained locked around her throat.

"Don't even joke about this Valentine." He replied, a shake of the head as he sighed.

"Well, not really a friend." Tiffany grinned, a row of pearly-white teeth appearing between her plump, red lips. "More a 'friend-of-a-friend'. You know what I mean?"

"Why?" Mike asked, his volume raising slightly as a car passed in the distance, the highway not as empty as he thought. "Why now?"

"Would there ever be a good time?" Tiffany asked, a silence following as Mike proceeded to tighten his hand around her neck more and more, Tiffany finally caving and blurting her answer, a whisper as she felt her lungs begin to burn. "I needed answers... Alright? I deserve to know!"

"You don't deserve a god damn thing!" Mike said as he released his captive, Tiffany dropping to her knees and beginning to inhale deeply, one hand clamped to her throat, the other sinking into the grass as the rain continued to fall. Turning his back and running a hand through his wet, untidy hair, Mike considered his next move, finding his concentration broken as Tiffany's voice rang through the air.

"You're not the only Victims here." She screamed as the rain soaked her to the bone, hair clinging to her face, eye liner streaming over her cheeks.

"Don't you dare..." Mike turned and wagged a finger, the fury evident in his tone, rain lashing at his leather jacket and whipping through his hair.

"I lost something too!" Tiffany cried out, tears lost in the rain as she began to sob uncontrollably.

"Lost something?" Mike asked. "You didn't lose something! You had a chance. Don't you see? A chance to get out of the gutter, move on with life."

Feeling her hand sinking into the grass even further, Tiffany rocked back and landed with a thump against the side of the Plymouth, her backside beginning to feel the water creeping into the seat of her jeans as she lay her head back against the car and simply sat.

"I didn't want anything other than Chucky." She sobbed, lifting a hand and gesturing at Mike as she continued. "But YOU took him from me!"

"I did the world a favour that night!" Mike retorted angrily as he squatted before Tiffany, staring deep into her weary eyes as the two mentally examined each other.

"It was too late." Tiffany laughed. "I didn't know what was happening back then. I said my goodbyes at the funeral but I didn't know, I really didn't."

"I know." Mike said, his tone becoming more relaxed as he looked upon the pathetic girl before him. "I was there too. Just to make sure that son of a bitch was really dead."

"That how you recognised me?" Tiffany asked, Mike answering with a nod.

"Don't you think Karen's suffered enough?" He asked. "She doesn't need this. Not now. Not ever."

"I already said, I just needed answers." Tiffany sighed as she wiped a mixture of rain and tears from her face. "I was doing well too you know. Then that bastard Jack Fuller had to go raking up the past."

"Jack Fuller?" Mike asked, intrigued.

"You know him?" Tiffany asked.

"Used to be on the force." Mike replied. "Not to be trusted, put it that way. Comes as no surprise the two of you have been in touch."

"So you and the Barclays didn't hire him?" She asked again.

"Take my advice Tiffany," Mike began to answer as he swooped and grabbed Tiffany's bag from a puddle by her side, taking her purse and opening it. Thumbing through the various forms of fake I.D Mike ripped them all from within and placed them in his pocket, proceeding to do the same with all but ten dollars of her cash. Closing the purse and dropping it in her lap he stood to leave. "Get over this. Charles Lee Ray is dead. Nothing, absolutely nothing, will fetch him back."

"You expect me to give up?" Tiffany asked with a burst of laughter, shaking her head and snarling through clenched teeth. "I've come too far for that."

"Meaning?" Mike asked as the rain rolled over his face.

"You mark my words," Tiffany felt a fire raging in her belly, something she hadn't felt in years as she looked up at Mike Norris and continued. "Chucky hasn't finished with either one of you yet! You're all dead already. Don't you understand? You, that whore of yours, even the whore's son. None of you are safe!"

Dropping instantly to his knees and once again grabbing Tiffany by the throat once more, Mike squeezed until his fingers turned white, all the while his face remaining as calm as could be as he gently spoke into Tiffany's ear.

"You've been warned." His voice was a whisper through the thunder storm echoing around them, but Tiffany heard him clear as a bell. "Leave this. Leave it alone. Now. Before you do something we'll all regret. Take the ten dollars I've been good enough to leave you and spend it on gas. Get away from Chicago. Maybe you can double it, you know? Show somebody a good time. Pretty sure that would be worth ten dollars where you come from."

Giving a short, but solid shove, Mike slammed Tiffany's head against the door of the Plymouth, releasing her as he did so and returning to his feet. Looking on from her seat, on the floor beside the car, Tiffany watched on through the haze as Mike stepped over her and made the short walk back to his car, unseen by Tiffany as she heard him firing the engine into life before crawling back on to the highway and giving it some gas. Stumbling to her feet, hanging onto the roof of the Plymouth as her legs shook beneath her, Tiffany watched the tail lights of Mike's car disappear in to the storm as she let burst with a blood curdling roar, a bellow of rage filled hatred as she screamed into the night.

"THIS ISN'T OVER!"

Legs buckling, vision slightly cloudy, Tiffany rested her chin on the roof of the car and took a deep breath as she held on.

"I say when it's over..."

As the rage continued to burn, Tiffany watched Mike's car disappear into the avalanche of rain, eyes focusing vacantly on the faint glow hovering over the horizon as she stared back towards the city, the night lights of Chicago twinkling in the distance as Tiffany had an idea.

She'd never change, and she was happy with that.

Right now, she needed to let off some steam.

Like the good old days.


	25. Chapter 4-4

Chapter 4.4

November 17th 1996

What was that?

That noise?

A high pitched groan sounding incessantly as Tiffany curled her fingers around the covers and pulled them over her head, the warm cotton feeling so refreshing against her cold skin but providing little protection from the irritating noise now ingraining itself in her head. Taking a deep breath and pulling the covers from her face, she slowly opened her eyes, blinking at first as they adapted to the light, flooding in from outside the window of the room. The noise still sounding, a rhythm now established, Tiffany swung a fist across the bedside table and felt a collision as the noise finally stopped, a smash as what Tiffany correctly guessed to be an alarm clock hit the floor and fell quiet. Clamping her eyes firmly shut once again, she felt a familiar feeling begin to burn through her head. The pulsating feeling beginning to emanate across her temples, as a sickness also rose from her stomach. Whatever she was drinking last night, it had certainly done the job because Tiffany had very little memory of anything following her drive back to the city. She remembered parking up with every intention of visiting Hangar 32, a nightclub down town well known for its random acts of violence, prolific drug use and live music, usually heavy metal and always very theatrical as the strobe lighting blinked above the sea of party goers, a stop motion effect administered upon the eyes of a casual observer. But last night she had ended up somewhere else entirely. The only question was where? There had been alcohol. That much was evident. After all the usual symptoms of dehydration, a banging headache and the urge to vomit, were all fighting for priority as Tiffany tried to swallow. Her throat dry and her mouth barren of any moisture whatsoever. Sitting up and reaching for the bedside table, Tiffany grabbed the glass of water and began to drink, downing the glass in one, mouthful after mouthful as she felt the cool liquid begin to soothe her throat, re-invigorating her as she swallowed. Blinking again, she looked to the window. The skyline beyond the pane of glass unfamiliar. It was also incredibly high up. Suddenly, a memory came flooding back as Tiffany attempted to piece together the night before. Splintered titbits returning as she remembered walking on past Hangar 32 and towards the wine bars a few blocks on. She had been left enraged by the events at the facility, furious in fact with the way her meeting with Karen Barclay had panned out, not to mention the altercation with Mike Norris. As she returned to the city she had felt something inside her rear its head, the need to satisfy a craving she had long considered herself to have under control as she prowled the swanky establishments in search of entertainment for the night. Or to give it its proper name, a victim. Turning to her side and laying her head back upon the soft pillow of what she assumed to be a hotel room, Tiffany did a double take, the body laying by her side soaked in blood as the lifeless eyes of her new friend stared back at her, Tiffany giving a small sigh as she took in the image before her. Numerous lacerations marked the corpse, restrained around the wrists and ankles by a series of belts and hotel towels. The man's mouth was packed with Tiffany's underwear as he continued to stare, the panic and fear still visible. Now she remembered. She had fallen upon this guy as she waited to be served a drink, a quick change on the rear seat of the Plymouth after rooting through the contents of her holdall, rendering her remarkably attractive as he coolly slid onto the bar stool by her side, introducing himself as Paul and offered to buy her a drink. First appearances were something Tiffany had been raised to notice. So it was no effort for her to gauge the kind of man she was dealing with. Slicked back hair, expensive suit, the cleanest pair of brogues and a white band around his wedding finger indicating a ring to have only recently been removed. They'd chatted for a while, Paul regaling her with stories of his life, accidentally forgetting to mention the wife no doubt left at home as he began his charm offensive, unaware of the kind of party Tiffany had in mind as her rage gently simmered. A few drinks later and Paul placed a hand on Tiffany's bare thigh, massaging gently as he let his hand wander to the bottom of her skirt, Tiffany gently pushing him away as she asked for another drink, all the while plotting a return to the good old days. Her plans hadn't been in vein. Nor was the act tainted with disappointment, an anti-climax so to speak. No, Tiffany had felt a fire erupt as she helped a drunken Paul remove his clothes, holding him off as best she could, insisting they do something a little more exciting. Pushing him to the bed, his eyes had lit up like the fourth of July as Tiffany began to secure his wrists, bending at the waist and giving Paul full view down her cleavage as she leaned across the bed and wrapped his belt around his wrists, the leather cutting in slightly as she pulled it tight. Towels from the bathroom were used on the ankles. Soft, blossoming white and deceptively difficult to tie as Tiffany finally felt the makeshift shackles and found herself satisfied with her work. Lying naked on the bed, erection on full view, Paul had began to get excited as Tiffany removed her clothes, peeling away her blouse and unhooking the clasp of her bra as she allowed her skirt to fall to the floor. To many this may have seemed overkill. But Tiffany knew from experience that a naked body would ensure clean clothes and also serve to get Paul's pulse racing. The blood tearing through his system as the pressure built up. The higher the better for what Tiffany had planned. Standing in front of her victim, now dressed in only her underwear and a pair of heels, Tiffany had approached him and asked if he was ready to play, the frantic nodding indicating it to be time as Tiffany removed her underwear and told Paul to open his mouth, stuffing the material in with one hand, compacting the material into a dense ball of fabric as she cradled his chin with the other. Then, standing upright and turning her back on her victim, Tiffany took a few short steps towards her handbag, resting in the chair across the room. Hips swinging as she walked in her heels, her naked bum rocking erotically from side to side, Tiffany reached for her handbag and gave a small chuckle as she slurred her words ever so slightly.

"Would you like to meet my friend?" She asked with a seductive smile.

Paul's eyes looked on in sheer delight as he imagined exactly what the beautiful woman before him meant, the colour instantly draining from his face as Tiffany turned. The knife clenched firmly in her fist. He'd tried to scream, of course, but found it useless. The garment wedged between his teeth holding strong as Tiffany turned on the stereo sitting on the table beside the chair and found a radio station, raising the volume to achieve an ambience that would mask any potential cries for help. Thrashing across the mattress, Paul had no chance as the makeshift shackles gripped tight and restrained each limb impeccably. Casting a drunken laugh skywards Tiffany now approached the bed, knife high above her head, gripped tightly in both hands as she bit her lip and gave her victim a mischievous smile and brought the knife slicing through the air. The pain looked unbearable as Paul cried out as best he could, blood squirting from an artery hidden deep beneath the skin of his neck and spraying over Tiffany as she lifted the knife from the wound and struck once more, an almost orgasmic feeling taking over as she felt the rush of pleasure, the excitement almost sexual, giving her goose bumps as her smile slowly mutated into a determined grimace. Faster, harder, each slash of the knife caused yet another laceration, deeper and wider as blood began to spew from each and every cut, Paul's eyes glassing over quickly as his cries dwindled to a low whimper, his attempts to break free dying in frequency and effort as his body eventually became still. Before long Tiffany found herself lashing at nothing but open wounds and exposed muscle, blood now beginning to dry on the clear white bedding as her grunts grew louder, the knife slipping in her hands, blood soaking into her fingers as she frantically hacked away, snarling through gritted teeth as she unleashed years of pent up aggression. As the euphoria slowly subsided, Tiffany's attacks gradually slowed before eventually coming to a complete stop as she took a breathless step back to admire her work. Blood now lay across the carpet of the hotel room as it spilled from the edge of the bed, soaking over the tip of her heels and working in between her toes as she surveyed the mess before her. Catching her breath, her naked, ample breasts lifting in rhythm, she took shallow intakes at first, eventually turning to deep, refreshing lungfuls, Tiffany lifted her arms and ran her eyes from the tips of her fingers to her shoulders, the blood quickly drying and becoming sticky under touch. Now, looking down her bloody, naked body, across her bare stomach and down the length of her legs, finally finishing on her toes Tiffany looked at the mess she had made of herself and gave a little giggle as she lifted a lone, solitary finger to her lips and placed it inside her mouth, seductively sucking as she withdrew her digit, the blood no longer staining her skin.

"Just like the good old days." She whispered to herself as the radio continued to play along in the background. She wasn't sure if it was the drinks, or maybe the occasion making her light headed, but she needed a lie down. Tomorrow would most definitely be a busy day. Right now though, Tiffany stepped over the expanding pool of blood surrounding the bed and headed to the bathroom, her heels leaving a small set of bloody foot prints as she walked. She needed to clean herself up.

Now as she lay on the bed, the sunlight blasting across the Chicago skyline and into the hotel room, Tiffany felt her head pound. A throbbing pain as the pressure built and she fought off the hangover as best she could. Sitting up and taking a deep breath she yawned and rubbed the sleep from her eyes, the corpse beside her laying still as she looked up and down the length of Paul's body. Blood completely covered the far side of the bed, the floor also turning a dark brown as it dripped from the bed sheets and dried into the coarse fibres of the carpet. Suddenly a loud knock came from the hotel door, Tiffany lifting her head in shock as a voice called from the other side.

"Housekeeping." The voice politely sang, Tiffany forced into action as a key slowly scraped it's way into the lock positioned on the door handle. Jumping to her feet, the key now turning, Tiffany bolted across the room as the handle twisted and the door slowly began to open, the maid's face suddenly beginning to gradually appear through the ever growing crack. Throwing the weight of her body against the door of the hotel room, Tiffany slammed it shut as the maid recoiled in shock, a splutter of surprise from the corridor outside as Tiffany grabbed the door handle with one hand and turned the lock with her other.

"Not right now, thank you." She cooed, the tone of the maid's muffled response indicating her displeasure, Tiffany now watching through the peep hole as the maid returned to her cart and gave the door a filthy look before moving onto the next room. Spinning and leaning back against the door, Tiffany breathed a sigh of relief, a clump of dark hair blown from her face as she tried to calm her heartbeat, the blood pumping and making her visibly shake. The room was a mess. Clothes were strewn across the floor and accompanying furniture, bottles of alcohol littered every surface, then there was the incredibly small and trivial matter of the body on the bed, the scene making Tiffany feel sick as she realised the mess she had made. The blood had dried across Paul's side of the bed, over spilling and seeping into the carpet. The once sticky and viscous liquid had now hardened and stained the surrounding area. Examining Paul's body, Tiffany found his torso had been completely ripped to shreds. Puncture wounds and wide, deep lacerations covering almost every square inch. His throat had been cut so bad Tiffany could see his windpipe, the influx of blood allowing his already failing lungs to fill quickly, drowning the poor man in his own blood. It looked bad, and after the things Tiffany had seen, the things she had done, she realised now that this was amongst the worst, if not top of the bill. Crossing the carpet, taking care not to tread in the wet patches, Tiffany raced to the window of the room, casting her gaze across the city as she tried to get her bearings. The height led her to believe that she was roughly twenty five, maybe thirty, stories up, the people below resembling ants as they dodged the traffic and went about their business. The problem Tiffany faced right now was getting out of here, and quickly. Turning and grabbing her blouse and skirt from the chair beneath the window, she began to dress. Buttoning her blouse, she crossed to the foot of the bed and slipped her feet into the heels, tying the straps around her ankles before sliding her legs, one by one, through the skirt and fastening the clasp. Without a shred of remorse, Tiffany then daintily stepped up to Paul's side of the bed and reached her fingers into his mouth, withdrawing her underwear as a sigh escaped the lifeless body. Sliding her underwear up over her legs and into a comfortable position, Tiffany then crossed the room and dropped to her knees, one last task as she lifted Paul's trousers and began to feel through the pockets, grinning as she retrieved a thick, leather wallet, the wad of notes within quickly transferred to her purse. Standing, Tiffany took one last look around the room and made sure there was nothing incriminating. No evidence that could point the eventual police investigation in her direction. Satisfied, Tiffany pulled a pair of oversized shades from her handbag, slipping them on before heading to the door and taking a second to calm herself.

"Here goes nothing." She whispered as she yanked open the door of room 2856 and stepped into the beautifully decorated corridor, another memory of the night before suddenly returning as she lifted her hand at the last moment, shielding her face from the camera positioned dead centre of the ceiling. The plush blue carpet beneath her feet felt flat in comparison to the carpet of the room, the amount of traffic up and down no doubt shortening the lifespan as Tiffany found herself pondering the average lifespan of a hotel corridor carpet, anything to keep her mind busy as she headed to the elevator and tried to remain calm. Reaching the doors and slamming her palm into the call button, Tiffany took a look up and down the corridor, face still obscured from view as she stood and willed the elevator on, wishing for it to hurry up as she found herself muttering under her breath.

"Come on, come on." She said, the brightness of the numbers above the elevator door shining through her shades as she watched the numbers climb, curious to know exactly just how high up she had ended.

25...

26...

27...

Finally the digits stopped as the counter reached twenty eight, a loud 'bing' as the doors to the extremely spacious elevator slid open with a hum, the rollers allowing the doors to glide effortlessly apart and welcome Tiffany. Inside, the wall to wall mirrors gave her ample opportunity to check her reflection, almost limitless angles as she turned and gave herself a quick once over, the doors closing quietly behind her. Spotting something amiss and cursing, Tiffany zipped open her handbag and reached inside, pulling a hanky from within before spitting on it and rubbing vigorously behind her right elbow, the large blood stain, previously going unnoticed, disappearing a little with every rub. Feeling the familiar weightlessness of the elevators descent, she made sure to check as thoroughly as she could, finding no more stains either on her person or her attire. Happy, she could only stand and wait, watching once again as the floors ticked down, giving Tiffany time to plan her escape from the hotel. The intention was to get downstairs and leave as quickly as possible. No distractions, no commotion, nothing. It was in this moment that Tiffany began to wish she'd brought a change of clothes, her holdall still resting in the trunk of the Plymouth parked three blocks east of the wine bar she had ended up meeting Paul in. But, she had no choice now, the only option being to make her way back to her car and prepare for the day ahead. She had a plan. Jesus, of course she had a plan. Execution however depended on how prepared she was and how much she knew. Sarah Pirce number four was out there, but where? Suddenly the elevator jerked to a stop, the doors opening with the same sickening 'bing' and opening into the vast lobby of the hotel. White marble graced the floor, the odd ripple of grey lending it a textured appearance as it spread across the lobby and worked its way up the front of the concierge, the thick marble counter hiding a trio of bodies, all casting their eyes in Tiffany's direction as the elevator opened up, the name 'Regency Hotel' sat proudly above their heads. The two women, hands full of paperwork, instantly returned to their duties, filing the papers as one answered the phone sat behind the counter. The third person, a large, balding gentleman in a suit, kept his eyes on Tiffany as she took a deep breath and stepped from the elevator, her heels once again striking the thick marble floor and sending a loud 'click' echoing across the lobby, the noise seeming to rise above the ambient hum of the various clientèle all chatting and passing through. As she walked on, towards the exit, Tiffany turned in the man's direction and tilted her head forward, lifting a lone hand and pulling her shades to the tip of her nose as she raised her eyes and fixed him a stare of her own. 'I'm watching you, watching me.' She silently said, by now figuring the portly gentleman to be management of some description, all the while feeling unsettled as he ran his eyes up and down her body, returning to her face as Tiffany pushed her shades back up her nose and turned to focus on the exit, an idea striking her as she noticed the pay phones by the revolving door of the establishment. Deciding to play it cool, not race from the scene like there was any problem, Tiffany changed direction slightly and approached the row of pay phones, delighted to see the familiar binding of a White Pages placed gently beneath each booth. Giving her head a little flick and throwing the dark hair from her eyes, Tiffany reached below the phone and grabbed the book, opening to roughly the region of her desired page, such was her experience. Flipping a few more pages over, Tiffany then ran her finger down the list of names and smiled, taking a second to quickly look around before tearing the bottom half of the page from the book and folding it, placing it in her handbag before replacing the thick, heavy book beneath the phone. Confident she had gone unnoticed Tiffany calmly lifted her head and proceeded to the exit, the revolving door spinning as guests and visitors entered and exited the hotel lobby, one after another.

'Sarah Pirce number four, come on down.' She thought with a smile as she reached the door, blissfully unaware of the camera positioned above.

Returning to room 2856, Linda Ford allowed her trolley to roll to a stop. The floor beneath gently helping as the wheels found themselves embedded in the plush carpet of the corridor. Removing a ring of keys from the buckle around her waist, Linda eyed the door to the room carefully, the memory of her last attempt to gain entrance still harshly burned in her mind as she approached the door with a fresh outburst of pessimism, all five feet and four inches of her petite frame tensed like coiled spring, prepared for another confrontation.

"Housekeeping." She softly spoke, a gentle rap on the door accompanying her call.

No answer...

Checking the door handle, making doubly sure to find no 'Do Not Disturb' sign hanging free, Linda paused for a few seconds before leaning in, face inches from the door and trying once more.

"Housekeeping!" Her voice slightly louder, she once again knocked upon the door, more aggressive this time as the sound of the impact caused a passing couple to divert attention from their current conversation.

Still no answer...

Throwing caution to the wind, the room sat before her, the last of her shift, Linda grasped the handle and lifted her ring, the numerous keys jangling as she inserted the correct one into the lock and twisted slowly, pushing the handle down.

"Hope you're decent honey." She sighed to herself as she pushed the door open slowly and poked her head into the room gradually. With her field of vision heavily obscured by the door, Linda called out one final time, the silence that met her call finally confirming the room to be empty.

"Anybody in?" She asked, reaching back and grabbing her trolley with her free hand, the other still clamped on the door handle as she finally pushed it all the way open, stepping into the room and finding herself horrified by the view that now met her eyes. The body lay motionless on the bed, the covers pulled back and allowing the now dry blood to soak into the mattress and the sheets above. Laying completely naked, the body had been bound at the wrists and ankles, the upper half completely saturated, the blood staining the flesh which had been mutilated, slash marks deep enough to expose internal organs, arteries and bone, such was the severity of the marks. Before she could move, before she could think, Linda's first reaction was an involuntary one. An instantaneous reaction as her lips parted and her lungs let fly with an earth shattering scream, loud enough to bring fellow guests from their rooms as she continued to scream over and over, adrenaline flowing but soon subsiding as she felt her legs begin to weaken. A tremble began to spread throughout her body as she took another step toward the corpse before her, gingerly reaching for the phone beside the bed, tears beginning to flow as she started to sob uncontrollably. Unable to take her eyes from the scene, she found herself fighting the urge to vomit as she noticed the neck of the victim. Cut so deep the wind pipe was exposed, the chunk missing from the neck now hanging loosely as blood coagulated around the area, the volume of blood causing it to dry slower than other areas, the blood still sticky, tacky to the touch. As Linda lifted the phone to her ear she heard the familiar sound, the ring tone to reception as a voice calmly answered.

"Front desk." The voice politely chimed.

"P... Police." Linda stuttered.

"I'm sorry?" The voice asked puzzled.

"The police!" Linda repeated herself. "Get the police now!"

Replacing the phone in the cradle, Linda turned to find the doorway to room 2856 had attracted a barrage of attention. Neighbouring guests all craning to get a better view, jostling for position as they observed in a stony silence, only the occasional gasp of surprise filing the air. Turning back to the body and clapping her hands together in prayer, Linda felt tears roll over her cheeks as a pocket of air emerged from the windpipe of the body and allowed a viscous bubble of semi-congealed blood to burst,, splattering across Linda's face as a collective sigh of disgust sounded from behind.

Lifting her bare arm and observing her watch, Officer Gloria Esposito checked the time once more as she paced across the marble floor of the Regency Hotel. Back and forth. Over and over. Hardly a sound as her shoes scuffed the surface of the gleaming floor. Cursing under her breath, the enormity of the situation never seeming to rescind, Gloria checked her watch once more, stopping on the spot as she took a look across the lobby and found life passing by as normal.

'If only they knew.' She found herself thinking as she span on the spot and continued to march the width of the lobby, the doors to the elevators before her masked in generous amounts of tape. Blue and white, baring the words 'Police Line – Do Not Cross'. The message was incredibly simple. No entry. The official line had been simply that there had been an incident on the twenty eighth floor, all guests diverted to the stairwell across the way, no further explanation as the police worked their hardest to survey the scene. The twenty eighth floor had also been cordoned off at the entrance from the stairwell, another officer stationed to make sure the scene remained undisturbed as Officer Esposito awaited her backup, a weight lifted from her shoulders as suddenly the revolving door to the hotel turned at pace and Officer Harold Wan entered the building. Although not as experienced as some, Gloria couldn't have wished for anybody better. She had come through the academy with Harold three years previous and already knew he would deal with a situation like this better than most. Top of the class and supremely confident in his own abilities, Harold had been labelled 'cocky' by some. Gloria knew this to be untrue though. The margin was narrow, but Harold had never strayed across that line, and he was damned if he was going to let the opinions of a handful stop him from working to his full potential. Placing her hands on her narrow hips, Gloria's thick hispanic lips parted in a beaming grin as a spiral of jet black hair hung from beneath the visor of her Chicago P.D hat.

"I ask for backup and they send me Columbo?" She laughed as Harold came to a stop before her, his smile enough to instantly put her at ease.

"Officially I'm on my way downtown." He replied with a small laugh.

"Oh?" Gloria asked curiously.

"Don't ask." Harold removed his hat and wiped his brow, returning the hat as he sighed deeply. "The Captain has me working on... Something special."

"Sounds very hush-hush." Gloria said, hands still locked to her hips.

"You wouldn't believe." Harold replied, turning to the elevators and noticing the strands of tape blocking the doors. "We're going up then?"

"I guess so." Gloria nodded, suddenly remembering Harold's words. "You're not my backup then?"

"Nope." Harold shook his head and started to walk towards the elevator, hitting the call button and finding the doors open instantly. Lifting a strip of tape, he then gestured for his friend to step inside watching as she ducked into the mirrored interior and following suit. "I figure they'll be another ten minutes, at least."

"Then what are you doing here?" Gloria asked as she pressed the button for the twenty eighth floor, the numbers lighting up and the doors sliding closed, the slight feeling of nausea hitting the two of them as the elevator started to ascend.

"I know what you're like around things like this and was passing by." Harold laughed.

"Things like this?" Gloria asked as she playfully punched Harold in the shoulder. "Meaning?"

"Remember the first fatality we did after the academy?" Harold continued, admiring his uniform in the mirror and brushing a hair from his chest. "I've never seen somebody go white that fast."

"Well..." Gloria exhaled, leaning against the mirrored wall of the elevator as she stared vacantly at the floor. "Some things you never get used to I guess. Thought I was over it. But this..."

"Bad?" Harold asked, sensing his friend beginning to tail off.

"You can say that again." Gloria nodded. "Never seen anything quite like it myself."

"This body." Harold turned to her, his eyes narrowed in concentration. "We can rule out suicide?"

"Harold," Gloria laughed nervously. "If this is a suicide then this guy was one hell of a contortionist."

"Meaning?" Harold asked.

"You'll see." Gloria answered as the lift began to slow, the small jolt felt by both her and Officer Wan as the doors slowly slid open, another wall of tape greeting the two officers as they ducked beneath the sticky, plastic strips and stepped into the corridors of the twenty eighth floor. From where they stood, Harold could see their destination clearly, the blues and whites of even more police tape indicating the crime scene beyond the threshold of room 2856, the remaining doors lining the corridor all closed tightly, the floor sealed off from the public.

"The other rooms unoccupied?" He asked as they walked, Officer Esposito nodding as she answered.

"The guests are downstairs. We need to question them. Then I guess some will be moved to other floors, some shipped over to a sister hotel. There aren't enough rooms for all of them."

"No witnesses then?" Harold continued, the room coming up quickly.

"Not that I'm aware of. All we have is a brief statement from the maid that discovered the body." Gloria replied. "Our killer was in and out. No commotion."

"I see." Officer Wan sighed as they reached the door to room 2856, turning the corner and ripping the tape from the frame of the door, instantly recoiling in a mixture of shock and horror at the sight that awaited.

"Told you." Gloria smiled half-heartedly.

"Jesus." Harold stepped forward, a look of pure repulsion spread across his face, the cold and now stiffened body laying exposed before his very eyes. "What a mess."

"I know." Gloria nodded in agreement as she stepped beside him and examined the scene once again.

"Who did you say found him?" Harold found himself asking involuntarily, stepping up to the body and leaning over.

"One of the maids." Gloria replied. "Just over an hour ago."

"Jesus." Harold gasped almost lost for words.

"I know." Gloria said. "Shook her up pretty badly."

"Those cuts are deep. Look." Harold lifted a finger and pointed. First to the neck, then to a wound around the chest area. "You can see right to the bone. My lord."

"I estimate he's been like this for at least ten hours." Gloria mused, pointing and drawing attention to the torso. "The blood's completely dry. Almost flaking."

"Look at the face though." Harold replied, a touch of discomfort to his tone. "You can still see the fear. Whoever did this certainly knew what they were doing."

"Meaning?" Gloria asked, folding her arms across her chest as she turned to her colleague seeking enlightenment.

"Well let's start at the beginning." Harold lifted his hands, fingers outstretched as he spoke. "This was premeditated. No doubt about it."

"Go on..." Gloria allowed him to continue.

"Let's assume our suspect is a female." Harold suggested, Gloria interrupting.

"You'd assume right. The maid that discovered the body said she tried to enter the room an hour beforehand but was stopped. A female voice told her to come back later."

"No wonder." Harold laughed. "Okay, so she gets her man up here. No struggle, whatsoever. He then allows her to restrain him. Now what do you think the intentions were? On his part anyway."

"Sex." Gloria replied instantly. "I would have thought that was obvious."

"It is." Harold carried on. "Now the first question is this. Did he check in alone? Was he with a spouse? Partner?"

"Records show the room was booked under the name Paul Swanson." Gloria answered. "Single booking for three nights. The room was charged to a company called Barnes Pharmaceuticals."

"Okay." Harold sighed. "Now let's assume Mr Swanson either goes out with the intention of engaging in sexual activity, or is approached with a promise of such. They come back to his room, she ties him up, then WHAM!" Harold brought his hands together, Gloria jumping at the noise.

"Affair gone wrong?" Gloria reasoned. "Spurned lover kicked into touch before the wife found out? Lured him up here for one last night of passion?"

"Bit extreme don't you think?" Harold answered. "Usually they threaten to tell the wife. Extort some money. Then eventually move on."

"Disgruntled hooker then?" Gloria asked.

"Hookers usually have somebody else deal with their problems." Harold answered.

"Pimps?" Gloria asked, Harold replying with a gentle nod of the head.

"Know what I think?" Harold narrowed his eyes as he continued to observe the corpse, Gloria's silence enough for him to continue. "I think that maybe, just maybe, Mr Swanson was in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"I don't follow." Gloria said. "You mean this could have happened to anybody?"

"Exactly." Harold smiled.

"But I thought you said it was premeditated."

"The act yes." Harold lifted his hand and cradled his chin, turning to the body of the late Paul Swanson. "The victim, I'm willing to guess, was picked at random."

"Shit." Gloria gasped. "Poor guy."

"We need to see the CCTV footage." Harold said as he stood up straight, his eyes still fixed on Paul Swanson's rigid, blood stained corpse. "Round up anybody working the lobby and reception last night. Bell boys, receptionists, management. Find out what time Mr Swanson returned from his night out, more importantly where he'd been. Then search the footage and see what we can find out from that."

"Can do." Gloria nodded, turning and acknowledging the forensics team as they slowly began to filter through the doorway from the corridor outside.

"Whoever did this." Harold said. "Is on that footage."

A short stroll along the corridor and back toward the elevator soon found Officers Harold Wan and Gloria Esposito beginning their descent to the lobby of the Regency hotel. A small chime from the elevator found the doors slowly sliding apart as the officers once again ducked beneath the police tape and approached the front desk. The girl working the desk smiled as she turned and found her two guests waiting, the myriad of questions going unanswered as she pointed them in the direction of the manager's office behind the reception. Giving the door a solid knock, Harold and Gloria waited patiently as a phone call came to an end inside, the muffled voice dying quickly and the door swinging open as they found themselves greeted by a small, rather round gentleman, his shining bald head and immaculately groomed moustache his most distinguishing features as he welcomed them into his office, stepping back and gesturing with an outstretched arm towards two vacant seats sat across his desk. Taking their seats, the officers removed their hats and placed them on the surface of the desk, Harold taking the lead as they sought answers to their questions.

"Understand you had some morning here." Harold smiled calmly.

"You can say that again." The manager sat back and exhaled. "Head office are going out of their minds over this."

"You have any idea of Mr Swanson's whereabouts last night?" Gloria asked.

"Not really." The manager replied a sigh. "Mr Swanson's been coming here for the past three years. Business, you know? Kept himself to himself. Of course it's not for me to cast aspersions, but I did tend to notice Mr Swanson's wedding ring would go missing almost every visit."

"Did you know Mr Swanson to entertain in his room?" Harold asked. "Often I mean?"

"Look," The manager began. "I don't want to talk ill of the dead. But Mr Swanson liked his women. It wasn't unusual to see him return at midnight, maybe later with a different woman to the night before."

"And what type of women were these?" Gloria asked inquisitively.

"Oh don't get me wrong." The manager said. "They weren't 'those' type of women. As far as I could tell. No, the women he usually, 'entertained' as you put it, were as sophisticated as he."

"Did you or any of your staff happen to see Mr Swanson return from his evening out last night?" Harold asked, the manager exhaling and lifting his brow as he thought.

"That would depend entirely on whether or not anybody was working the desk as Mr Swanson returned. Sometimes the night shift catch up on anything the day shift may have missed. With it being quiet and all."

"How about CCTV?" Gloria asked.

"What about it?" The manager replied.

"Do you have it in reception?" Harold quickly interrupted.

"We have it all over the place." The manager nodded with a laugh, his shiny cranium reflecting the light above him. "Service entrances, the lobby, the corridors."

"We need access to the footage." Harold stated as he stood, hat in hands. "You have a security office where my colleague and I can check?"

"Yes." The manager stood also, his rotund stomach standing proud as he removed a key from his pocket. "Follow me."

Step followed step, the huge underground maze of corridors beneath the Regency Hotel seeming tangled enough to swallow entire platoons of men whole as the labyrinth expanded more and more with each twist and turn, the service elevator that had led the trio into the basement now nothing but a memory as Harold and Gloria marched on behind the stout figure of the Regency's manager. Without saying a word, the three came to a stop at a door, the sign above indicating they had reached their destination, the words 'Security Office's emblazoned above. Sliding the key from his pocket and into the lock, the manager twisted his wrist and felt the latch release, gripping the door handle and opening as he reached his arm around the corner, throwing the room into light with the flick of a switch. Rows and rows of monitors blared out silently as the two Chicago Police officers took in the view before them. The grainy, black and white footage rolled in as life carried on above, the various feeds from each and every camera all leading back to the tiny room.

"I'm guessing," The manager started as he paced the width of the room, past the security desk and towards a steel cabinet. "That Mr Swanson returned after midnight."

"Meaning what?" Harold asked, hat clasped firmly in his hands as he let his eyes wander over every inch of the room, his colleague Gloria Esposito remaining silently by his side.

"Meaning," The manager replied as he pulled open the cabinet and began searching through a row of VHS cassettes. "That if I'm correct, then we should have him on this very tape."

Turning to the two officers, a cassette gripped tightly in his fist, the manager approached the security desk and pulled back the chair parked beneath, slumping to a sitting position as Gloria and Harold stepped up behind.

"And who said chivalry was dead?" Gloria stared into the back of the manager's head and muttered under her breath, Harold fighting back a small fit of laughter as his lips pursed into a smile.

"This is from midnight up to six this morning." The manager explained as he slid the cassette into the player and pressed play, the black screen suddenly bursting into life as footage of the lobby began to play, the time stamped in the bottom right of the screen showing it to be little after midnight.

"You mean we have six hours of footage?" Harold asked. "Surely there must be a quicker way."

"Hang on." The manager lifted a hand, his other hand working the cassette player as he located a fast forward button. Instantly the footage became blurred. Lines appearing through the middle of the screen as the footage increased in speed, a couple suddenly crossing the lobby at a blistering rate.

"Wait!" Harold said. "Back it up."

Rewinding the footage, the couple reversed across the screen as the manager stopped the reverse function and pressed play. All eyes were now trained on the footage as the seconds ticked by in the bottom of the screen, the couple now emerging through the revolving door and into the lobby, arms linked as they strolled casually towards the elevator. The man seemed to be walking fairly steady as they crossed the marble floor. The woman meanwhile appeared to lose her footing once or twice, her heels slipping from beneath her as they finally approached the elevator and waited patiently the man's arms all over his guest as they kissed. The woman appeared to be dressed in a white and black combination. A skirt and blouse at first glance. Her hair dark and constantly swept from her face throughout the duration of their screen time. The man seemed to be wearing a suit of some description, his appearance coming across as more sophisticated than his companion, despite the shocking quality of the footage.

"That our guy?" Harold asked, lifting his hand and jamming a finger into the screen as he leant over the manager's shoulder.

"Yes." The manager nodded, as on screen the elevator doors slid open and the couple disappeared inside. "It would appear so."

Without saying another word, the manager stood and raced back to cassette cabinet, reaching in and pulling free another cassette. Hurriedly, he returned to his seat and ejected the cassette, inserting the new one in a quick and seamless motion.

"What's that?" Gloria asked as another area of the hotel came into view, a corridor, the manager now fast forwarding the footage instantly.

"This is the corridor from the twenty eighth floor." He replied, his eyes never leaving the screen. "If we time it right..."

Releasing the button and allowing the footage to resume playing, the two officers watched on as the couple from the lobby now emerged from the bottom of the screen and made their way along the corridor. Stopping at a doorway, the two people kept themselves obscured from view as they canoodled and kissed in the corridor, disappearing suddenly as they entered the doorway and allowed it to slam closed behind them.

"As I thought." The manager said quietly as he ejected the cassette. "That was indeed Mr Swanson."

"You recognise him?" Harold asked.

"That was his room." The manager replied, his voice a whisper as his mind seemed elsewhere.

"Everything alright sir?" Gloria asked as she let her eyes leave the screen, noticing the manager to be deep in thought.

"That girl." He replied. "I've seen her. I'm sure of it."

"Where?" Gasped Harold, anticipation building, the case possibly resting on the manager's answer.

"Hang on." The manager lifted a solitary hand, working the rewind button with the other as the couple on screen reversed from room 2856 and into the corridor the manager pausing the footage as the couple stood still. "The lobby. This morning!"

"What time?" Gloria enquired, standing aside as the manager once again stood from the desk and raced to the rows of cassettes held within the cabinet. Looking left, right, up and down, the manager seemed at a loss, suddenly spinning from the cabinet and racing to the row of monitors gracing the opposite wall, each screen overhead streaming footage from the premises.

"Of course it's not in there, it's still recording." The manager laughed, pressing the eject button beneath the monitor labelled 'lobby'.

"She's on there?" Harold asked, willing the answer from the manager's lips.

"I'm positive." He replied as he once again sat at the desk and inserted the cassette, hitting rewind and allowing the tape to whizz backwards. "It was about nine thirty. Maybe quarter to ten. She was near the pay phones."

Slamming his hand into the buttons, the high pitched whirr emanating from the VHS player stopped instantly, the screen now lighting up as the manager pressed play and jogged the footage forward, eventually stopping as a lone woman, dark hair, white top and black skirt emerged from the elevator and into the lobby, the time marked clearly now in the bottom right corner of the screen, 9:37am.

"Looks like our girl." Gloria leant in and examined the screen, watching as the mysterious figure crossed the floor of the lobby, changing direction suddenly and heading towards the payphones. "Payphones, just like you said."

As the trio watched on, the woman approached the bank of payphones and came to a stop, lifting a book from beneath and opening it up.

"What's that?" Harold asked. "White Pages?"

"They're all over the place these days." The manager muttered, engrossed in the scene playing out on screen.

As the officers, along with the Regency's manager, watched on, they observed in a stony silence as the unknown female took a look around the lobby and replaced the book beneath the payphone, calmly striding towards the revolving door and straight beneath the camera, Harold almost riding the manager's back as he took control of the console and pressed pause, the footage once more freezing as the woman passed beneath the camera. The frozen image, stuttering as the player struggled to keep the cassette from moving, hung on screen as Harold narrowed his eyes.

"That's our best view of her." He said, Gloria joining him as she leaned in beside.

"Agreed."

"She looks awfully familiar for some reason." Harold whispered to himself, Gloria tilting her head in an inquisitive manner.

"Lots of dark haired women in Chicago Harold." Gloria stifled a chuckle as she spoke.

"She really does." Harold answered. "But that's not what's bothering me."

"Then what 'is' bothering you?" She asked.

"Why didn't she make a phone call?"

The room hung in an awkward silence as Harold and Gloria allowed their eyes to return to the screen, the manager suddenly breaking the silence.

"She tore a page out." He said nonchalantly.

"What?" Harold gasped. "Where?"

"You can't see it there, but I remember watching her do it." The manager growled. "Really boils my piss when people do that."

Suddenly a spark ignited in Harold's mind, the pieces seeming to lay in place as a puzzle unfolded before him and he felt a fear creep over him. The familiar woman, the death in room 2856 and now the page torn from the book beneath the pay phone.

"We need to see which page she took." Harold said, colour draining from his face, a look of fear developing quickly.

"Does it matter?" Gloria asked.

"I think it does." Harold softly spoke, a nod accompanying his words. "Let's just hope I'm wrong."

A swift race back through the underground maze of the Regency Hotel's service area eventually brought the officers back to the service elevator, the pace slowed greatly by the reliance on the round figure of the Regency's manager leading Harold and Gloria back through the labyrinth and to their destination, the doors laying open as all three hurried inside and pressed the button for the ground floor. Within seconds the trio reached the lobby, the two officers quickly marching to avoid attracting any unwanted attention as the manager struggled to keep up. Reaching the row of payphones Harold reached beneath the first on offer and retrieved the White Pages, flicking through the pages in no time, eyes working frantically as he kept a look out for a missing page, briefly seeing it whizz past and stopping. Working back, page by page he eventually landed on the page in question, part of it ripped from the spine in a hurry earlier that morning, Harold's body filling with terror as he noticed the names the page would offer were it intact, the name S. Pirce being one of them. Closing his eyes and addressing Gloria, Harold's words were barely audible above the ambience of the lobby, the importance however still resonating in his tone.

"Somebody better call Captain Senior."

Standing beside the corpse of the late Paul Swanson, Officer Gloria Esposito felt a shudder as she observed the forensics team. Multiple items sat labelled, each individual piece given its own unique number before being carefully bagged and tagged by a member of the team. The white overalls and bright blue rubber gloves reminded Gloria of a science fiction film she had seen as a child, the sterile atmosphere recreated right now before her very eyes as she watched another of the forensics team place a pair of slim, needle-nosed plyers into Paul's mouth and fished something small from within.

"Interesting." The heavily disguised man stared from behind his dust mask as he lifted the plyers and narrowed his eyes.

"What is?" Gloria asked, catching the man off guard as he turned in surprise.

"Looks like fabric." He answered. "Can't be sure, but maybe nylon."

"She gagged him?" Gloria exhaled. "Makes sense. Keep the noise to a minimum."

"Looks like it. Although usually with a gagging we'd expect to see the fabric running between the gaps in the teeth."

"What do you mean?"

"This was in the roof of the mouth, a little more towards the back of the throat." The forensics member explained. "Whatever this material came from, I'd hazard a guess it was rolled up. Real tight too."

"You don't say." Gloria raised her eyebrows in a pleasantly surprised manner.

"We'll know more when were get it back to the lab." He continued, throwing open a plastic evidence bag and dropping the tiny piece of fabric inside. Without warning, the quiet, eerily silent ambience of room 2856 burst into life as the familiar, booming voice of Captain Reginald Senior hollered out across the room.

"Esposito!" He called as he stepped into the room, the blood soaked corpse completely ignored as his eyes scanned the handful of people within.

"Sir." Gloria turned, startled.

"What do we have here then?" The Captain asked as he craned his neck to finally observe the body, taking a look before returning his gaze to the young officer before him.

"Male, early forties, time of death estimated to be around one thirty this morning from multiple lacerations to the throat and chest, sir." Esposito answered, the Captain nodding silently as she spoke, allowing her to finish before turning and beckoning her to follow.

"Come with me." He said. More of a demand than a request. Gloria following on quickly as she left the room and entered the empty corridor of the twenty eighth floor, doubling her pace as she strode up beside the Captain, his voice now quieting as they walked together and approached the familiar elevator up ahead. "That was some good police work young lady."

"Thank you sir." Gloria breathed a sigh of relief.

"No need for formalities Gloria." Senior laughed, seeing the two of them were completely alone. "I've known you since before you could crawl. You think you're father would be happy with me letting you call me 'sir'?"

"I guess not Uncle Reginald." Gloria chuckled. He was right obviously. Her father, god rest his soul, picked a good person for godparent duties all those years ago, Reginald Senior and him going back years. Decades in fact. Reginald had been a rock as Gloria entered the police force. No favour she couldn't ask. No advice he wasn't prepared to dish out. She had seen a side to him that many others didn't even know existed, even now as he turned and addressed her once more.

"How are the boys?"

"They're good." She smiled, lifting a hand and sweeping a spiral of jet black hair from her face.

"And Derek?" Senior enquired.

"Don't mention that waste of space." Gloria's tone turned sour. "Still dodging alimony. Still avoiding his responsibilities."

"He's a good man." Reginald reasoned as they approached the elevator. "Give him time."

"I've given him plenty of time." She snapped, instantly regretting it. "Can we talk about something else?"

"Very well. Can I see the book?" Captain Senior asked, stopping as they reached the elevator and pressing the call button, the doors opening instantly.

"It's downstairs sir." Gloria replied, entering the elevator with Captain Senior and allowing him to press the button for the ground floor. The amount of times Gloria had done this small journey was nothing short of scandalous. "We have the manager's office set aside. Saves us moving things about and lowers the risk of losing anything that may be considered evidence."

"Good work." Senior smiled. "May I ask what made you put two and two together?"

"I was in the briefing sir." Gloria explained, negating to mention the presence of Officer Wan at Harold's own request, the elevator beginning it's descent. "I saw the photo-fit, knew our girl was working from a phone book. Guess it was more a hunch than anything."

"Well," Senior smiled. "Had I known you were so interested in our 'Phone Book Killer' then it would have made my next decision a lot easier."

"How you mean?" Gloria asked, intrigued.

"I'm pulling McCain from his current duties." Reginald began to explain. "Our witness from North Lakeshore Drive is being rehoused temporarily so I need somebody to assist him in his next assignment. You seem to be clued up, so how do you feel about joining him?"

"Whatever you think best Uncle Reginald." Gloria answered, attempting to remain calm.

"I'm not going to lie." He continued. "It's another round of 'babysitting'. But it's all experience."

"Definitely." Gloria replied. "I won't let you down. I promise."

"I know you won't kiddo." Reginald smiled, the elevator slowing before coming to a stop as the doors opened. "After we finish up here, get yourself off home. You can join up with McCain tonight."

"Thank you sir." Gloria smiled, stepping aside as she allowed the giant frame of her superior to exit the elevator, following into the lobby as the two of them marched across the floor. The lobby had grown busier as the day had gone on. Business types, families and the occasional party coming together to use one of the Regency's many suites. Now, approaching the front desk Gloria could see a queue had already formed. New guests checking in. Current guests checking out. Random guests from the twenty eighth floor. Some accepting the inevitable room change, others complaining and demanding a reduction in their bills. Gloria felt a sense of shame in humanity as she followed Captain Senior behind the counter, listening to the various arguments as the Captain knocked on the door to the manager's office. Did they know what had happened? Could they not understand that there were far more important things in life? Was life itself not enough? Suddenly, the door behind her opened, the small, rounded figure of the manager greeting the two of them as he welcomed them inside, Gloria waiting and following in Captain Senior's footsteps.

"Please." The manager smiled through his thick, bushy moustache, gesturing with one arm to the two empty seats, closing the door with the other as the office quickly fell silent. The barrage of noise from the front desk now drowned out by the thickness of the door. As Gloria and Captain Senior took their seats the manager hurriedly waddled around his desk and slumped to a sitting position before them. In the centre of the desk sat a solitary item. The White Pages from beneath pay phone number one, proudly taking pride of place in an otherwise uncluttered workspace as the manager pushed the book towards the Captain.

"This is it then?" Senior mused as he carefully opened the book and began to thumb through the pages, stopping as he neared the back.

"You can see the names missing from the page sir." Gloria pointed as he finally found the page. "Sarah Pirce being one of them."

"Indeed." Senior mumbled, deep in thought, taking a few seconds before looking up and addressing the manager of the Regency. "What can you tell us about our victim?"

"Nothing more than I already told you." The manager replied, slouching back in his chair and drumming the tips of his fingers upon the desk. "Mr Swanson's being coming here for years. Every few months he visits clients in Chicago. Always stays here. It was obvious he enjoyed company of the female persuasion too. Wasn't uncommon to see him head out for the night and not return until the early hours with a guest."

"Never the same woman?" Captain Senior asked.

"Never." The manager answered.

"Escorts?" Senior questioned again. "Prostitutes? Did Mr Swanson ever ask you to arrange anything like that?"

"No," The manager laughed nervously. "And even if he did, I wouldn't know..."

"Of course." Senior lifted a hand and interrupted. One thing Reginald Senior couldn't abide was a liar. Not that he suspected the Regency's manager knew anything else, but every hotel had numbers for escort agencies. More often than not they usually had contacts in the seedier, lower class end of the 'business' too. "Who found the body?"

"One of our maids." The manager replied. "She's in a right state. Gave her the rest of the day off."

"How very kind." Senior acknowledged with a slight nod of the head. "Nobody saw our victim return with his killer last night?"

"No." The manager shook his head as he spoke. "It was a quiet night. We usually run a skeleton crew as it is, and they spread themselves pretty thin."

"Sir," Gloria spoke up, the Captain turning to her as she continued. "All we have at the moment is CCTV footage and a statement from a guest in the adjoining room. Says that Mr Swanson returned late, which we already know. Also says he heard voices. Not for long though. The next thing he heard was music, which increased in volume. Almost called down to reception, but decided against it and managed to get back to sleep."

"I see." Captain Senior said, processing the information before returning his attention to the Regency's manager. "We have footage then?"

"We do." The manager answered with a smile, lifting a remote control from the desk and swivelling in his seat, exposing a TV set behind him as he lifted the remote and clicked a button as the TV set burst into life. "This is the two of them returning last night. Then her leaving in the morning. I had security record all the available footage onto one cassette for us."

"Good idea." Senior nodded. "Although we will need the originals."

"Understood." The manager smiled as he returned to the TV set and pressed another button on the remote gripped in his hand. Suddenly, an image of the lobby burst onto screen, the couple returning from a night out and approaching the elevator. Next, the camera changed. An overhead shot as the same couple emerged from the bottom of the screen and made their way along the corridor of the twenty eighth floor, stopping briefly at a door, canoodling as the man fumbled in his pocket and finally withdrew a key, the couple disappearing inside. The screen flickered as the image changed slightly. The same camera, and the same angle, but the time stamped in the bottom right corner indicating it to be early this morning as the woman emerged from the room alone, a hand held up to obscure her face as she walked.

"This is new!" Gloria snapped as she turned her attention to the manager.

"Security checked it out and put it in there." He replied. "Not much point if you ask me. She obviously knows the camera's there and covers her face."

"Looks like it." Gloria replied, turning her attention back to the screen. A burst of static and the lobby reappeared on screen, the high angle giving a remarkable view over the entire area, from the elevators, across the revolving doors and towards the pay phones as the woman now emerged from the elevator and approached the row of phones. Stopping and retrieving the White Pages from beneath the first phone, the trio sat and watched as, with back to the camera, the woman started to flick through the book, returning it to the shelf beneath the phone seconds later.

"That's when I saw her tear the page out." The manager said with a smile, the Captain choosing to ignore the remark as he continued watching, the woman turning and facing the camera head on as she began her walk to the revolving door, slipping through and into the vast city beyond.

"That's all we have?" Captain Senior asked, the manager and Officer Esposito nodding in unison.

"Very well." Senior sighed before addressing Esposito. "Officer Esposito, feel free to return to the precinct. Go home, get some rest and meet up with McCain later."

"Understood sir." Gloria stood, giving a nod to both her superior and the manager before pulling open the door to the office and heading into the lobby.

"Mr..." Captain Senior hesitated waiting for the manager to fill in the blanks.

"Boyce." He answered.

"Mr Boyce. Thank you for your continued assistance. I know this must be a very distressing time for you, your staff and also your guests. If I could ask that you please bear with us. Obviously the nature of these events mean that we have to conduct a thorough investigation. Your compliance and help will be noted, I can assure you."

"Not a problem." Mr Boyce smiled, excitement growing in his tone. "This phone book thing... You think this is the killer from the news?"

"Mr Boyce," Senior started, choosing to ignore the question for the time being. "May I have a moment alone? Also use your phone?"

"Anything you need just ask." Mr Boyce said as he stood sheepishly from his seat, giving the Captain a shake of the hand before leaving the office, the sound of the lobby erupting and then quickly dying as he did so. Standing from his own seat and making his way around the desk, Captain Senior grabbed the remote control and dropped into the manager's chair, hitting the rewind button and watching as his killer backtracked across the screen and towards the payphone. Lifting the remote and pressing a button, the image stuttered slightly before the action returned to normal, the footage resuming as the girl turned from the pay phones and began to approach the revolving door. Hitting the pause button, Captain Senior leaned forward in his chair and studied the image now held, juddering, on screen. He couldn't be entirely sure, but from his seat he noticed something he had missed the first time round as she faced the camera head on. The image was grainy to say the least, but Captain Senior was almost certain the girl was smiling. Cradling the remote in one of his strong, oversized hands, he narrowed his eyes and studied the image in more depth, his lips parting as he silently asked the question on everybody's lips.

"Who are you?"

"You really have to do that?" Officer Esposito jerked her head towards Officer McCain. The constant tapping of his pen on the steering wheel of the patrol car beginning to irritate a long time ago if she were to be honest. But now, almost half an hour later, she could stand no more. Lip pinched between his teeth, McCain ceased tapping and turned in the driver's seat, giving Esposito an innocent look. Crossword book gripped tightly against the centre of the steering wheel, he spoke quietly as the police frequency crackled over the radio, the stillness of the night only recently broken as the patter of rain began to creep across the windshield of the car.

"You always this friendly?" He asked with a smile before turning his attention back to the puzzle.

"Usually more so." Esposito answered, sinking back into the seat of the patrol car, the dull and quiet evening unfolding around them as they simply sat and waited. Observed to use a better word. Across the surprisingly empty street the house sat in the darkness. The only light coming from within as several rooms found themselves illuminated. Bathed in a glow of light as the home of one Sarah Joan Pirce sucked electricity from the grid, the light bulbs working frantically as the lone figure of the woman in question went about her business as best she could. Placed in one of Chicago's more upmarket suburban sectors, the street currently found itself devoid of life. Very little in the way of parked cars. No life on the streets. Hardly anybody home in the neighbouring properties as Gloria looked up and down, the staggered , detached houses and surrounding picket fences thrown into darkness, driveways empty indicating a lack of occupancy. To say Gloria had been expecting something a little more exciting would be an understatement given the fact that nothing of any interest whatsoever had taken place in the two hours both she and officer McCain had been parked up. McCain leaving the patrol car to empty his bladder into the bushes that ran along the side of the street to the cars left had literally been the only memorable moment Gloria could recall at that very second. The kid's playground on the other side probably not the best place to answer the sudden call of nature, not even with McCain's advanced years and unreliable plumbing taken into consideration.

"A lot of people seem to be out. It's quiet." Gloria said as she cast her eyes over the road and down the long, winding street, McCain answering without taking his eyes from his puzzle, the tip of his pen now taking pride of place between his teeth.

"Probably some late Halloween parties."

"It's the middle of November!" Gloria gasped in a mixture of shock and humour, leaning forward and beginning to wind down the passenger side window of the patrol car. Reaching beneath her seat with her other arm, she withdrew a pack of cigarettes and retrieved a solitary cigarette. Placing the filter between her lips, she then proceeded to pull a lighter from the pocket of her uniform, flicking the flint and cupping her hands around the white, nicotine laden stick as she sucked in a lungful of fumes and closed her eyes as she felt the hit. After a few seconds she released, exhaling a long, drawn out cloud of smoke in the direction of the open window of the car.

"Bad for you." McCain said, eyes still fixed to his puzzle as he suddenly jerked his pen from his mouth and began to scribble at pace, a clue finally clicking and providing the answer.

"So is that." Gloria lay her head back on the headrest and lifted her cigarette in the direction of McCain's coffee, sitting in the cup holder between the two seats. It had been public knowledge, for as long as Gloria could remember, that McCain would occasionally add a splash of the good stuff. A drop of blended whisky every now and then. Took the sting out of a cold, and more often than not, boring night. Random alcohol tests had been introduced years ago, but somehow, nobody knew how exactly, McCain had passed every one. The only thing Gloria could put it down to was somebody tipping McCain off at the right time. But what did he care anyway? He was nearing retirement age. Had his savings. His pension.

"Touché." McCain said with a small chuckle, pen drawn back to his lips. "But you know what they say right? You can take the boy out of Ireland, but you can never take Ireland out of the boy."

"You were born in Chicago!" Gloria laughed, a cloud of smoke escaping her nose and causing her to cough.

"You know what I mean." McCain replied. "It's all y'know... Genetic."

"You mean it's all bullshit."

"You don't embrace your heritage?" McCain asked, his attention now drawn from his puzzle and to the conversation.

"What you mean?" Gloria asked, surprise in her tone.

"The Mexican thing." McCain asked flatly. "You are Mexican aren't you?"

"Puerto Rican!" Gloria replied with a zest in her tone.

"Same thing." McCain turned back to his crossword. "Mexican. Puerto Rican. You all sneak across the borders and expect us to celebrate that Cinco De Mayo bullshit."

"Wow." Gloria sat back, absolutely gobsmacked and speechless. "Nice bit of racism there McCain. Last I knew you were a 'dirty immigrant' too."

"Well, as you quite rightly pointed out earlier," McCain started nonchalantly. "I was born in Chicago. So technically the 'dirty immigrant' was my mother. God rest her dirty immigrant soul."

Unable to keep a straight face, Gloria recoiled as she allowed a cloud of smoke to once more burst from her lungs, the car engulfed in a haze of nicotine infused smoke as McCain joined in, the two officers laughing raucously as the bushes to the patrol cars left suddenly wobbled slightly. Movement indicated around the other side.

"The hell was that?" Gloria asked, a silence falling over the pair.

"No idea." McCain answered as he too observed the hedge. "Said the weather was gonna change t some point. Maybe wind? Go take a look."

"Me?" Gloria whispered, hissing her words.

"Why not?" McCain answered, his voice also low.

"There's some crazy bitch going round killing people, maybe on her way to slaughter the very person we're sat watching, and you want to send a poor defenceless woman to check it out?" Gloria seemed astounded.

"Alright, alright." McCain gave in, throwing his crossword book across the dashboard of the patrol car and reaching into the foot well, returning with his hat. The silence that had suddenly descended upon the car seemed only to highlight the static from the radio frequency that kept crackling and popping along.

"Probably just a cat anyway." McCain reasoned, placing his hat on his head and gripping the handle of the car door, pulling and finding the door falling open as he slowly lifted his leg and stepped from the vehicle. Reaching into his belt, McCain withdrew a small torch and flicked it on, leaning back through the open door of the squad car and shining it into Gloria's eyes as she instinctively lifted a hand to shield herself from the light. "If I'm not back in ten minutes, then don't worry. I probably needed more than a piss this time."

"Gross McCain." Gloria answered, repulsed as McCain threw the door closed and marched off in front of the car and along the bushes, eventually disappearing behind as he reached the end and headed into the playground, the bleak light of the overcast night being exceptionally limited as McCain found himself tripping over the trunk of an old oak tree. Regaining his balance and swinging his torch to illuminate the immediate area, McCain did a quick check to make sure he was alone, the playground empty and still as a breeze softly began to ripple through the leaves overhead, getting stronger as a sudden gust of wind caused the branches to bend backwards as they struggled to resist the approaching gale, the rain now building and whipping at McCain's face. Satisfied he was alone, and more importantly that nobody was around to witness his little stumble just a moment ago, McCain lifted his torch to his shoulder and crooked his head to the side, holding the torch in position as though it were a phone and using both hands he reached down to his crotch and fumbled with his zipper. One of the biggest downsides he had discovered as he approached retirement, had been the ever decreasing size of his bladder. The constant cups of coffee no doubt only serving to be of further detriment as McCain now discovered, lowering his zip and releasing the pressure from within. The wind whipping around him, McCain gave a sigh of relief as he closed his eyes and rocked back on his heels, the bushes before him illuminated by the torch cradled on his shoulder as he heard the satisfying sound of urine cascading over the grass before him. As the wind whistled and roared, the drops of rain hammered against his back, McCain failing to hear the footsteps approaching from behind. The crunching of leaves underfoot. The snap of a branch as his assailant sneaked almost by his side, arm raised and knife gripped tightly by the handle. The very first Officer McCain knew of his company, was the cold swish of steel arcing through the air.

And by then...

It was too late.

Back in the patrol car Gloria took another drag from her cigarette, holding the hit of nicotine infused smoke first a few seconds before exhaling a cloud of smoke through the open window to her right. The wind rippled through the row of trees littering the quiet street, branches bent double as the gust picked up and forged its path through anything unfortunate to stand in its way. Outside Sarah Pirce's house, a wind chime danced in the gale. The chimes ringing out hypnotically as the porch underneath sat in silence, only a wooden rocking chair joining in as it started to slowly arc back and forth, quickening as the strength of the wind picked up, all whilst the rain continued to fall, increasing from gentle drizzle to a steady shower as the small, well manicured garden separating the house from the sidewalk soaked up every last drop. The wooden house had no doubt seen worse than this, Gloria thought as she calmly puffed on her cigarette, the open window allowing a hint of the crisp, fresh evening to enter the car. Inside she could still see Sarah Pirce working from one room to the next, a whirlwind of emotions no doubt, as she worked to take her mind from the evening ahead. She had made her feelings known to both Gloria and Officer McCain upon their arrival. Oh how she had let them know what she thought. Using her as bait in a well laid trap. Trying to entice the killer towards them so they could pounce and make the arrest. Although it was denied, Gloria had to admit that was the plan. Round the clock surveillance though, could only provide so much protection. As Gloria found herself lost in her thoughts, she was brought back to her duties as she noticed Sarah had stopped. Stood in the window of her living room, staring into the street, she was watching the patrol car and trying to catch Gloria's attention, noticing she had it and giving a questioning thumbs up. Holding her cigarette from view, Gloria gave a reaffirming smile and returned the thumbs up. An indication that all was well, and that Sarah could relax. It was doubtful though. This had become something of a habit recently. Only instead of the gaps between checks getting shorter, they had now started to become more often. Every thirty minutes had become every fifteen. Which in turn had become every ten, and had now become every five. Satisfied, temporarily, Sarah gave a smile of her own before returning to whichever unnecessary task she had been working on beforehand, the lingering feeling of unwanted anticipation quelled for now. Turning back to the clock Gloria noticed the time. It had been almost five minutes since McCain was last seen disappearing behind the bushes separating the playground from the street, and not a peep had been heard since.

'Maybe he needed a little longer after all.' Gloria thought with a smile as she shuffled and fidgeted in her seat, reaching down to the side and pulling the lever, the seat reclining slightly as Gloria battled for comfort. Eyes locked on the windshield, the constant and increasing patter of rain had a refreshing quality to it as she took one final lungful of smoke and cast the butt of her cigarette through the open window with a joyful and content smile, her attention suddenly returning to the windscreen as something landed with a deafening slam and rolled to a stop across the hood of the car. At first she had thought it to be a joke by Officer McCain. Something to freak Gloria out as she sat and waited. But sitting forward and taking a closer look, it only took a second to register and for the enormity of the situation to hit home. There, on the hood of the patrol car, sat in an ever expanding pool of blood, sat the blank face of the late Officer McCain. Blood had begun to trickle from his mouth as his lifeless face stared straight back at her, the vacant expression only enhancing the fear. It only took a second for Gloria to muster a scream, but muster a scream she did. Her ears ringing as she felt her lungs begin to burn, finally regaining what little composure she could and reaching for the radio located on the dashboard of the car. Arms trembling, body tensing, Gloria gripped the radio and pulled it from its cradle, the wire hanging across her leg as she lifted the receiver to her mouth and felt the tears begin to roll from her eyes. Pressing the button on the side of the radio Gloria tried to speak, her words a stutter as she found herself unable to talk. Her eyes fixed to the blood now running down the windshield and along the hood. Then suddenly the moment changed. A swish, followed by the smallest of flashes, as the cable of the radio fell to Gloria's lap, the receiver still clenched tightly in her hand as Gloria suddenly felt her body come over all cold. Without moving her head, Gloria allowed her eyes to drop, a horror blossoming from within as she noticed the handle of what she figured to be an axe protruding from her neck as her body began to spasm uncontrollably. Attempting to draw breath, Gloria struggled. The axe wedged in her neck and, unbeknown to her the head rest of the seat behind, had not only cut off the intake of air but had also restricted the expulsion of carbon dioxide as Gloria started to choke, the blood now beginning to run down her throat feeling cold and thick as she involuntarily began to gag. Feeling her vision begin to cloud over, her energy start to dwindle, Gloria could do nothing but think of her family. Her children. Then with her last ounce of strength, she looked at the hand gripping the handle of the axe and allowed her eyes to run up the outstretched arm of her killer, only stopping as she finally reached the top and looked into the eyes of the mysterious, dark haired woman before her. It was a chilling last image as the face returned her stare. The smile that adorned the face dripping with a sadistic pleasure as she calmly stood and watched as darkness took over and Gloria's body finally fell limp.

Feeling a ripple of enjoyment spread throughout her very being, Tiffany looked into the eyes of the young woman before her and smiled a warm, satisfying smile. Taking a second to clock the name badge of her victim, Tiffany looked on as the eyes of officer Esposito slowly, gradually, began to glaze over, eyes flickering as she lifted her eyes and gave Tiffany a look of pure disbelief. Disbelief and terror to be more precise. Hand grasping the blade of the axe, Tiffany waited for Officer Esposito's eyes to close before giving a pull and attempting to withdraw the axe from the wound in her neck. But it was no good, Tiffany yanking once more as blood began to creep from Esposito's injury and run down the handle of the appliance, another pull opening the wound as blood now began to gush from the neck and cascade down the front of her police uniform, Tiffany by this point leaning forward to investigate the problem and finding the blade of her weapon jammed in the steel supports of the head rest of the patrol car, a sigh of frustration as Tiffany exhaled and blew the hair from her face, the body in the passenger seat sitting completely still as Tiffany had failed to realise her own strength, the axe slicing straight through Esposito's neck as Tiffany gave a little giggle of laughter. The head had been completely amputated and now sat atop the blade of the axe, the moment reminding Tiffany of Saturday evenings as a child, watching the magicians on television that were able to whip table cloths from beneath a fully set table without disturbing a single item. Only this had a more fulfilling feeling that now snaked its way through Tiffany's veins and ignited every nerve in pure, unbridled pleasure as she simply rested her elbows in the frame of the open car window and looked the corpse in the face with a childish grin. The flow of blood had begun to slow by now, the seat and foot well of the car by now soaked in the torrential downpour as Tiffany lifted a hand and ran her finger through the thick, sticky mess. Then, as she lifted her finger and admired the crimson, tacky liquid, she simply began to use the blood to decorate Gloria's face, biting her lip in concentration as she did so before leaning back through the window and admiring her handiwork, the word 'TOLD' taking pride of place on the forehead, whilst the words ''YOU' and 'SO' sat one on either cheek.

'TOLD YOU SO'

The words not to be considered a warning as such, but more a friendly reminder to the powers that be that they were indeed warned of the consequences of any attempted intervention. That attempt failing as two officers of Chicago Police Department now lay dead, their lives snuffed out in an instant in the line of service. But that was far from Tiffany's concerns as she took a step back, placing her palms on the surface of the patrol car door and pushing herself to a standing position, the car rocking slightly as Officer Esposito's head slowly leaned forward, the drying blood beneath her wound stretching as gravity did the rest and allowed Gloria's head to roll from the top of the axe and land in the lap of her torso with a sickening thud.

"Whoops." Tiffany cringed as she watched on in twisted interest, spinning in surprise as a smash of porcelain and a scream erupted from behind, enough to wake the dead as she turned to find a young woman stood on the porch of Sarah Pirce's house. Similar in height to Tiffany and with shoulder length blonde hair, the woman looked frail, her scrawny stature causing no immediate alarm as Tiffany looked her target in the eye and stepped forward.

The tray that had just seconds ago been gripped firmly in Sarah's hands now sat on the wooden floor of the porch, steam twirling into the air from the coffee, the shattered fragments of the mugs covering the immediate area as Sarah's face contorted in unimaginable horror, the mysterious woman before her turning in surprise. The empty night now filled with the blood curdling screams, bursting from Sarah's lungs over and over, the woman reached into the waist of her jeans and pulled a knife, the moonlight bouncing from the edge of the blade as she took a deep breath and stepped forward. Target acquired, Sarah watched on, trembling as survival instinct kicked in and she stepped backwards, slipping as her bare feet slipped from beneath her, the wet floor of the wooden porch losing any grip as it lay covered in coffee originally intended for McCain and Esposito. As she fell to the floor, eyes never leaving the knife brandishing woman before her, Sarah continued to move. Hands and feet pushing on as she scuffled backwards and towards the open door of her house, blood beginning to ooze from the soles of her feet as the chunks of porcelain cut in, Sarah's feet a blur as she pushed and pushed. Heart racing, adrenaline flowing Sarah watched, terrified, as Tiffany began to climb the handful of steps, ascending to the porch in a matter of seconds as her face remained unflinching, eyes never leaving her victim. Sarah felt cold as a feeling of impending doom began to settle across her shoulders. Her spine began to stiffen as she suddenly felt the warm, thick carpet beneath her palms, her living room offering a brief moment of safety as she gave one last push through the open door of the house and rose to her knees. Grabbing the door with both hands and giving a defiant scream, Sarah started to slam the door closed, her attacker's face now one of fury as she picked up the pace and lunged, her body slamming into the door just before the latch could make contact and lock. Taken by surprise, Sarah fell backwards, the weight of the woman's body forcing the door to snap back, the solid wood hitting Sarah in the face and forcing her from her knees as she landed on her back beside the coffee table in the middle of the living room floor. As the stars began to circle, Sarah felt a sickness begin to rise from her stomach. A nauseous feeling as the blow to the head took its toll and left the room spinning, a drunken feeling coming over Sarah as she suddenly felt a weight upon her. Opening her eyes and attempting to gain her bearings, Sarah now found herself pinned to the floor, both wrists forced to the deep, thick carpet as her attacker now sat upon her, knife grasped between her teeth as long dark strands of hair dangled in front of her eyes. Who was this woman? Why was she intent on causing such destruction and carnage? Feeling Tiffany's breath up against her face, Sarah forced back the tears as she heard words whispered into her ears. A calmness buried deep beneath as the voice, breathless and intense, spoke.

"Let it go." The voice, quiet and high in pitch, whispered from behind the blade. "He never wanted you."

Feeling a surge of adrenaline, Sarah lifted her knees to her chest and gave freedom one last try, planting the soles of her feet into Tiffany's abdomen and pushing with every ounce of strength she had, her energy levels depleted but a reservoir of determination fuelling the fires of survival. Sure enough the kick worked, catching the woman off guard as Sarah suddenly found her wrists become free, her assailant sent flying backwards and into the coffee table, the structure failing immediately as wood splintered and flew in every direction. What did she mean by that? Who was she talking about? Who 'didn't want her'? Sarah couldn't help but wonder as her body automatically tried to stand. Her legs wobbling under her own weight as she once again fought back the sickness and turned towards the kitchen, the woman now laying in agony across the shattered remnants of her coffee table gritting her teeth and rolling to ease the pain. Taking a step towards the kitchen, passing through the door, Sarah felt the icy coldness of the charcoal coloured tiles beneath her feet. Blood oozing from several cuts as once more her feet gave way and Sarah fell to her knees. Gasping at the pain, the streaks of bloody footprints left in her wake, Sarah started to crawl. Tears falling from her eyes, vision obscured, she reached out and grabbed the handle of the patio doors, the garden sitting just beyond maybe offering her only hope of raising the alarm, Sarah screaming in terror as she suddenly saw a reflection in the glass of the door and dodged the incoming attack, the knife slicing past Sarah's ear and jamming in the frame of the door. Falling backwards and landing on her bum, Sarah observed, petrified as the angered woman now stood, both hands gripping the handle of the knife, jerking and grunting as she exerted all her strength to free the blade. Sensing an opportunity, Sarah staggered to her knees and reached up to the kitchen counter, grabbing the phone from it's cradle on the wall and quickly dialling 911 as a voice calmly appeared over the line.

"911 what is your emergency?" The voice asked.

"HELP!" Sarah screamed. "THEY'RE BOTH DEAD! SHE'S TRYING TO KILL ME!"

Turning and finding the insane woman upon her once more, Sarah dodged automatically, spinning just in time and landing with a thump as the knife swung through the air again, finding its mark as the cold steel of the blade sliced through the cord, the line instantly dropping dead as Sarah found her call for help unceremoniously ended. Pushing herself from her knees once more, the patio doors still an option, Sarah suddenly felt the wind knocked from her lungs. Her body igniting in a searing pain as a boot connected with her stomach, the impact enough to send her tumbling across the spacious, tiled floor of the kitchen. Regaining her composure and rolling onto her back, she tried to sit up, prevented as her would be murderer once again placed the knife between her teeth and dropped to her knees, swinging a leg over Sarah's waist and straddling her as she attempted to secure her wrists. Pinned to the floor once again, Sarah felt her arms forced above her head, the woman now attempting to hold her with a solitary hand as she pulled the knife from her teeth with a mischievous grin and lifted it high above her head. Hearing the sound of the blade cutting through the air, Sarah swung her body to her right, just in time as the knife chipped into the tile beside her head, tiny ceramic fragments flying into the air as a voice snapped.

"Hold fucking still!" The attacker spat, venom in her words as she lifted the knife high above her head once more, Sarah now throwing herself the opposite way as the knife came tearing down again, the mystery woman almost falling over as the knife struck the tile with a sickening scrape. Sensing the opportunity, that her assailant was now off balance, Sarah managed to move her arms, the woman's momentary loss of composure helping incredibly as Sarah managed to break free from her grasp, curling her fingers into a fist and swinging as best she could. It worked better than she could have hoped. Not only did she make contact, but she caught Tiffany square in the nose. A splatter of blood squirting from her face as Sarah's fist made contact and the woman fell backwards once more. Seeing the knife fall from her fist and slide across the tiles of the kitchen floor, Sarah suddenly found herself in an unexpected position. She had the upper hand. Her attacker now lay on the kitchen floor, her weapon several feet from her, as Sarah sat up and pushed herself to her feet. Knees buckling once more, she fought off the fear, saw past the pain, and stood as best she could, sensing her chance now upon her as she turned towards the patio doors of the kitchen, the back garden, and the garage, awaiting. Groggily stepping across the kitchen, blood still spewing from the puncture wounds gracing the soles of her feet, Sarah approached the doors without looking back, grasping the handle and turning as the door swung open and the rain filled evening sat still and inviting. Stepping through the door, a spark of electricity igniting a feeling of optimism, Sarah felt the soft grass of her rear garden beneath her. Spongy and sodden, the grass was remarkably warm as she allowed her steps to turn into a jog, the searing pain briefly forgotten as she allowed the jog to evolve into a sprint, racing across the wet turf and towards the garage. Curiosity getting the better of her, Sarah turned and felt her heart sink, the woman in the kitchen rising to her feet, seemingly unstoppable as Sarah bolted across the lawn. Feeling the fear rise once more, the world Sarah knew suddenly began to spin end over end as she found the breath ripped from her body. Looking back, it would seem, had proven to be Sarah's biggest, and final, mistake.

Giving her head a shake, the cobwebs disappearing, Tiffany sat up. This was proving to be trickier than expected, that was for sure. Casting her eyes to the kitchen counter, she could see the phone line hanging loose, swinging to and thro as the phone lay abandoned in a small pool of blood. She could scream. How could she be so complacent? The police weren't that stupid. It wouldn't take long, minutes if that, and the call would be traced. Alarm bells would ring and Chicago's finest would be tearing towards the abode of one Sarah Pirce. Gingerly pushing herself to her feet, legs trembling, Tiffany now spun her head from left to right in search of Sarah. She had to admit, that was one hell of a punch, kicking herself mentally as she berated herself for letting it happen. The frail looking woman obviously underestimated as Tiffany finally lay her eyes on Sarah, the narrow patio door swinging open in the evening wind, the rain lashing at the glass as Tiffany watched her race away, across the grass swimming in rain water and towards the garage. But then something quite unexpected happened. Just as Tiffany thought all hope was lost. Just as Sarah sprinted across the grass, water spraying into the air with every step. Tiffany watched as Sarah turned her head back towards the house, a look of fear engraved on her face as time seemed to suddenly slow and Sarah found herself swept from her feet. Head snapping backwards, legs flying into the air, torso spinning as she hit the ground with a soggy thud. The puddle of rainwater beneath exploded as Sarah landed motionless, the rain hammering down as she lay still and breathless. Taking a step towards the patio doors, dodging the streaks of blood across the dark tiles of the kitchen floor, Tiffany moved as quickly as she could, blood flowing from her nose as she lifted an arm and wiped herself clean, knife gripped tightly in her hand. Crossing the threshold and stepping into the unwelcoming downpour outside, Tiffany's sneakers sunk into the grass, a squelch underfoot as she began to move quicker, approaching Sarah and investigating the cause of her sudden and unexpected state of incapacity. Allowing a smile to spread across her face, Tiffany stood over Sarah, now beginning to squirm as she fought for breath, and looked at the washing line. Beads of rainwater sat on the length of cord running the width of the garden, the line still wobbling from the impact just seconds ago, Tiffany looking at the height of the line and correctly assuming Sarah to have taken the blow to the neck, the line almost invisible as she hurtled across the garden and towards freedom. Fate, it would seem, could be a cruel mistress as now, in the blink of an eye, Tiffany found herself with the upper hand. And now, she planned to make the most of it. No more messing about. No more underestimating. It ended now. Sarah laying in a pool of water as the heavens ejected water at a furious rate, Tiffany lifting the knife with one hand and grabbing the washing line with the other, cutting through the thin, plastic material with one swipe of the blade and curling it around her fist, gripping tight enough to turn her knuckles white as she dropped to her knees with a splash ad began to wrap the washing line around Sarah's neck. Not once, not twice, but three times as she pulled tightly and sparked a sense of urgency in her victim, Sarah's eyes blinking through the ensuing rain, finger nails clawing at her neck as she desperately tried to create a gap, unable as she struggled to her knees, Tiffany pulling tighter still as Sarah continued clawing. Blood began to flow from her neck, the deep red diluted by the rain as Sarah's immaculately manicured nails dug into her skin and began to tear the flesh to shreds as she found her flow of oxygen severely limited. Attempting to stand, Tiffany following suit and moving with her, Sarah felt her legs buckle, Tiffany landing a swift kick to the back of her knee as she gave a small laugh and pulled tighter still, the pressure building in Sarah's head as she tried to scream, unable to do so as the panic grew and grew. Then, without warning, a pain erupted. Rippling from the middle of her back and spreading outwards across Sarah's body, Tiffany choosing her moment wisely and plunging the knife into her back, deep enough to puncture a lung, as she withdrew the knife and watched on, Sarah's body slowly going still as her struggle seemed to dwindle and Tiffany pulled one final time, her body tensing, the soaking wet washing line slipping slightly in her fist as Sarah's eyes rolled back in her skull and she finally gave up the ghost, arms dropping from her bloody neck in unison as Sarah's head suddenly dropped lifelessly and Tiffany released her grip, Sarah's body landing with a splash as the flow of blood began to merge with the mud and rainwater. Falling backwards and landing on the seat of her pants, Tiffany took a deep breath and felt relief wash over her, the rain falling heavier than ever as she looked at Sarah's body face down in the dirt, blood streaming from the puncture wound to her back. As the adrenaline began to dissipate and the enormity of the situation dawned, Tiffany took a look around and swept the sodden hair from her face. Although detached, other neighbouring properties still had ample view of Sarah Pirce's rear garden, and as she cast her eyes towards these properties Tiffany could see a single bedroom light flicker into life as the silhouette of a lone figure came into view.

"Shit!" Tiffany spat, rolling onto her knees and turning her back to the window. During the drama that had unfolded just moments ago, she had completely neglected to check out her surroundings, completely unprepared for this moment as she panicked and rose to her feet, beginning to sprint towards the house of the late Sarah Pirce and into the kitchen, away from prying eyes. Jeans soaking wet, water seeping into her sneakers, she hit the kitchen floor with a squelch and carried on, bolting through and into the living room, the remnants of Sarah's coffee table scattered across the floor as Tiffany shot past and through the front door. As she hit the porch, she could hear the sound of approaching sirens. Distant, but accompanied by a haze of flickering blue and red lights across the horizon, the sirens grew in volume, no time to lose as Tiffany began to run once more. Down the steps of the porch and into the street, across the road and past the patrol car, the decapitated body of Gloria Esposito's sitting on full view in the passenger seat, the severed head of Officer McCain still taking pride of place on the patrol cars hood as the rain battered the car relentlessly, without mercy. Passing the car without a second glance Tiffany headed behind the bushes and into the playground behind, stumbling across the roots of an old oak tree as she struggled to find her way, the area devoid of light as Tiffany lifted her head and focused on the street lights across the way, the street beyond offering sanctuary as Tiffany's means of escape awaited. Taking another quick stumble over the body of officer McCain, Tiffany ran and ran, her heart beginning to thud as her chest pounded and her legs began to burn. The sirens grew louder, not just one or two but a whole group, screaming out as one as Tiffany reached the edge of the playground and leapt the fence, her body slamming against the side of the parked up Plymouth as she quickly yanked open the car door and slid inside, firing up the engine in an instant. Giving the car some gas and throwing her headlights on, the street in front of her suddenly became illuminated as the car moved forward, reaching the intersection and screaching to a halt as a blur of white, blue and red blazed by at speed, the sirens deafening as they turned the corner and disappeared from view. Sensing her opportunity, Tiffany gave the car some gas once more and as calmly as possible pulled into the street.

'That was close.' She thought her nerves giving way to a chuckle, the euphoria allowing it to grow into a fit of laughter.

'Now who's next?'


	26. Chapter 4-5

Chapter 4.5

November 18th 1996

The contrast in days was nothing short of spectacular. Rain and wind disappearing overnight as morning broke and the sun timidly poked its way from behind a row of dark, looming clouds. Bathing the November morning in a sea of light, almost enough to add a feeling of warmth as the air hung still and silent. The spectrum of colours were vast and unique as leaves settled on the damp grass surrounding the Plymouth. Varying shades of greens, browns and yellows were truly a sight to behold, a seemingly endless kaleidoscope as Tiffany sat behind the wheel of her vehicle and pulled the almost empty packet from the dashboard, lifting the lid and finding her one remaining cigarette sat waiting. Sucking on the filter and extinguishing her lighter, Tiffany's lungs filled with smoke as she leaned forward and exhaled through the open window, watching entranced as the smoke began to dance and twirl through the calm morning air. She hadn't dared return to Gorman's Bar just yet. The thought of running into the police, or even worse Selena Thomas, was too much to comprehend as she spent the night in the Plymouth. Curled into a ball on the rear seat as she listened to the radio. The gentle lullaby of various sixties songs helping to calm the atmosphere after the events that had transpired earlier. Now, as she sat parked up on the outskirts of the city, the fields around her covering the horizon as Chicago loomed ominously in the background, Tiffany knew that it was inevitable. She had to return to the bar. Where else would she stay? One night in the car had been all well and good, but another night would be tantamount to vagrancy. No, she had to go back, even if just to freshen up. After all, of the seven Sarah Pirces listed, four of them could now be found on a slab in the morgue. Only three remained, and Tiffany figured that once she had finished her little quest, seen her vendetta through to completion, there was very little reason to hang round. How long would it take to dispatch the remaining three Sarahs? She had no idea. How did she intend to perform each individual feat? Once again it was a mystery. In the lap of the gods, yet strangely enthralling. The only thing she did know was that last night she had been careless. Maybe she'd become cocky. Overconfident. But last night her plan had almost disappeared down the drain. Fair enough she had to act fast and deal with the police presence, but deep down she had been expecting this situation from day one. Always more a case of 'when' rather than 'if'. Had Sarah Pirce managed to make it to her car last night then who knows what would have happened. It was a thought that brought every hair on Tiffany's neck to a standstill. The feeling of relief, of fear, each nerve still on edge as she tried to put the thought out of her mind, useless as she couldn't help but relive the longest ten minutes of her life. Over and over, vowing to be more careful in future. Get in, get it done and get out as quickly as possible, leaving nothing to chance, Tiffany lifting her cigarette to her lips and taking one final drag as she let her hand wander across the front seat of the Plymouth and to her handbag. Placing a hand inside and retrieving her gun, the small, cold, metal weapon weighing heavy, Tiffany narrowed her eyes and felt the hit of nicotine as she flicked the spent cigarette through the open window, the final plume of smoke quickly following as Tiffany's lungs released the acrid mixture and she examined the gun in detail. She'd been clumsy. No doubt about it. But with three women left, she couldn't take any more unnecessary risks. Maybe, just maybe, if she knew for certain she had the correct woman. 'The' Sarah Pirce. Then just maybe she would take her time. Drag it out a little and make her answer the seemingly endless list of questions. But right now, it was guesswork. Nothing more, nothing less. Hell, for all Tiffany knew Sarah Pirce was unlisted and a group of completely innocent women had been dealt a rather unfortunate hand. But it gave her purpose. And after the events of Mount Carroll, the seemingly innocent Mrs Appleby, it was what she needed. She'd tried going straight, being a good girl, moving on. But it was impossible. All Mrs Appleby had proven was how much Tiffany needed Chucky. How much Chucky needed her. Right now she had found herself in limbo, halfway between heaven and hell, knowing what to do but unable to experience a feeling of fulfilment, probably never able to until she had found a way to resurrect her partner in crime. When would that be? Who knew? Who cared? It would happen though, and as Tiffany sat and pondered her next move she felt a wave of happiness tickle her stomach. She would succeed. But for now, it was merely business as usual. And with that thought ringing in her head, she twisted the key in the ignition and felt the engine of the Plymouth growl into life. The tiger beneath the hood roaring away as Tiffany gave the engine some gas and engaged the clutch, the wheels slowly starting to roll across the grass and towards the open road as Tiffany hung a left and opened up the engine.

Signaling and sweeping right, the Plymouth turned down the street and away from the heaving throng of traffic. Either side of the car, the buildings stood tall and intimidating, the stone fronted properties housing all manner of businesses. Hair salons, convenience stores, electrical goods, a small library, the row of shop fronts stretched on, seemingly infinite as cars lined both sides of the street and people went quietly about their day. The radio crackled as Tiffany cruised the tarmac at a crawl, alert as possible as she desperately sought a parking bay. The host of the radio show had caught Tiffany's attention some moments ago, causing her to twist the dial and increase the volume a little, the topic of conversation shifting from a possible corruption within City Hall and onto a case that had begun to prey on the minds of many a Chicago citizen. The Phone Book Killer. The thought of a nickname had amused Tiffany. Even more so as time went on. The name popping up here and there, more and more as time passed, slowly burning itself into the subconscious of millions of people as Tiffany sat back and enjoyed the unexpected by-product of her carefully formulated plan. The very same thing had only infuriated Chucky all those years ago. The 'Lakeshore Strangler' moniker finally bestowed upon him by the media following the discovery of yet another body, that of Vivian Van Pelt, in the Lakeshore area. It had been the seventh body to be discovered, so it seemed only inevitable that the media lavish an alias upon the person responsible. But as Chucky pointed out soon after, it was only the third to be found in Lakeshore. Looking back with a tingle of happiness, Tiffany remembered how furious he had been. How passionate. Unable to see the funny side, a nickname only cheapening the grasp of terror he had slowly found himself inflicting upon the city. Now, as Tiffany listened to the radio, she found herself in a position she could never have imagined, smirking as the radio host continued and read from the various messages sent in by post. Words such as 'sick and twisted' graced the airwaves, along with 'mentally unstable', 'psychotic' and 'terrifying.' Some people had mailed in regarding the ongoing police investigation, comments such as 'stupid' and 'incompetent' just a couple of the many derogatory insults aimed at Chicago's finest as Tiffany giggled to herself in amusement. As the show continued, the rumours had begun to circulate regarding the events of the previous evening. Another fatality, allegedly another Sarah Pirce, only this time not destined to suffer alone, two Chicago Police officers also taken down in the maelstrom. 'Were these rumours true?' was a questioned posed by the host of Chicago Public Broadcast's late morning show. Tiffany nodded silently, as though answering the voice crackling through the old speakers of the Plymouth. 'What happens after the final Sarah Pirce is targeted?' was another question. Would the reign of terror continue? Would another name, another group of people, be randomly selected? Or maybe the killings of Sarah Pirce hadn't been some unplanned, random act of rage. Perhaps there had been, in the killer's mind, some justification for their actions. Finally popping off the seven women listed in the book before retreating back into the shadows, fading to obscurity and remaining a mystery never to be solved, part of Chicago folklore. Whatever the reason, the police had a job on their hands. Could they be expected to capture the killer? Surely their chances were getting better, the number of Sarah Pirces in the phone book now numbering only three. Tiffany had to laugh at that one. True, they were probably wasting all available resources on protecting the remaining Sarah's, which in turn would make the rest of her job incredibly difficult, but not entirely impossible. After all, so far the police had fallen at each and every hurdle, a fit of laughter beginning to escape Tiffany's lips as the radio continued playing. Without breaking rhythm, the host of the radio show carried on his tirade, a breaking announcement making Tiffany's blood turn immediately to ice, his words spoken with such calmness. A witness had been found. And although helping the police with their enquiries, details of the witness's statement had emerged through cracks in the media. Tiffany slowed, almost to a stop, as her entire world became a blur, the voice on the radio seeming to linger in the air as they described a red car leaving the scene. A dark haired woman in her early thirties racing from the house as the lights of responding patrol cars flashed across the horizon. As of this moment the police were on the lookout for such a vehicle, and also had extra details which had so far remained confidential. Spying an alleyway up ahead Tiffany hit the gas and swung the car to the left, the tyres screeching as she mounted the lowered kerb and navigated down the narrow alley, the buildings either side of the car providing a gap of no more than a foot or so. Seeing the gap widen slightly ahead, Tiffany steered around a resting dumpster and brought the car to a stop, the metal garbage can hopefully providing enough cover as she killed the engine and felt her heart banging in her chest. The person from the window. It had to be the person standing in the window of the neighbouring property, watching on as Sarah Pirce finally lost her battle and lay slumped in the mud. But how had they seen the car? Had they raced to the front of their house and watched as Tiffany bolted across the playground? Had they been able to see the car that clearly? Shaking her head, Tiffany curled her hand into a fist and brought it crashing down on the steering wheel of the car, the horn blaring momentarily, the solid apparatus vibrating slightly as Tiffany felt a jolt of pain ripple down her wrist. Reaching to her handbag, flicking the hand gun to one side and grabbing the pack of cigarettes, she almost screamed as she flipped open the cardboard container and suddenly remembered it to be empty, the convenience store out on the street probably her best option as she opened the door of the car and stepped one leg at a time into the alley, a couple of rats splitting in opposite directions across the wet concrete as Tiffany slammed the door closed and threw the strap of her handbag over her shoulder. A quick glance up and down the alleyway confirmed the coast to be clear as Tiffany strolled on past the cars trunk and around the dumpster, reaching the entrance to the alleyway in less than a minute as a steady flow of pedestrians passed by uninterested. Stepping into the small crowd, merging effortlessly and beginning her approach, Tiffany could see the convenience store up ahead. The Western Union sign hanging precariously from its bracket high above the battered store front as a rack of newspapers fluttered in the breeze, the occasional passer by stopping to admire the front page, maybe take a look inside, before being quickly moved on by the surly shopkeeper, his insistence that the library was a few doors down bringing a brief smile to Tiffany's face as she stifled a laugh and headed inside, the shopkeeper returning her smile as she crossed the threshold and entered the small store. A tiny, poorly manufactured monitor sat blinking behind the counter as the shopkeeper followed Tiffany inside and took a seat beside the till, the images beamed back from the multiple cameras carefully positioned around the store being examined fastidiously as customers called in for various odds and ends. Cigarettes, a magazine, a drink, you name it the small establishment seemed to have it. Scanning the rows of magazines on display, Tiffany felt repulsed, the covers of each one graced by whichever bimbo happened to be flavour of the month. Fifteen minutes of fame being milked for all it was worth before being replaced by the next assembly line celebrity. Sighing, Tiffany turned and approached the counter, the cabinet of tobacco products locked safely behind as she asked for twenty of the shopkeeper's cheapest cigarettes and began to fish around in her handbag, the wad of notes almost making the shopkeeper choke on his own cigarette smoke as Tiffany handed him a twenty dollar bill and told him to keep the change, immediately unwrapping the cellophane from the packet and retrieving a cigarette of her own as she lifted it to her lips and found a lighter thrust beneath her nose.

"Thanks sweet face." Tiffany grinned, flashing a row of pearly white teeth as the shopkeeper smiled his own disgusting grin. Teeth missing left, right and centre as Tiffany leaned in and sucked the smoke to the back of her mouth, the stains marking the shopkeeper's apron not leaving much to the imagination as she pulled the cigarette from her mouth and blew the cloud of smoke in the air. As she turned to leave, Tiffany stopped to examine the front pages of the newspapers gracing the display by the door, one in particular garnering her interest as Tiffany lifted it from the rack and observed the front cover, lifting the cigarette to her lips and taking another lungful of nicotine infused smoke. The headline read '**PHONE BOOK KILLER STRIKES AGAIN!**' and was accompanied by an early morning photograph that took in the length and width of Sarah Pirce's street. Tents had been erected on the street itself and part of the sidewalk, shielding the patrol car and the headless corpse within, whilst another was barely visible, the point of the canvas only just rising from beyond the bushes separating the sidewalk from the playground. The article was very brief, no doubt a rushed effort as the tabloid in question attempted to be the very first to break the news, the details minimal and the interviews also very small and textbook. Alongside the main feature there was another article, small but detailed, regarding a body found at the Regency Hotel, the journalist terrifying the casual reader as he proclaimed there to now be yet another murderer on the streets of Chicago, Tiffany affording a silent laugh to herself. Returning the newspaper to the shelf of the rack, feeling the shopkeeper's eyes burning deep into the back of her skull, Tiffany spun on the spot and strolled toward the store entrance, the sunshine outside looking warm and welcoming, the cool November breeze practically anything but as Tiffany lifted her arms and folded them across the chest of her leather jacket. Eyes fixed firmly on the ground, she walked along. Slowly. Lost in thought as she continued to sporadically puff on the cigarette clamped between her fingers, her mind dancing to the tune of reckless abandon and exhilaration, her next move still a mystery, which made this while scenario so engrossing and intoxicating. If she didn't know her next move, then how could the morons at Chicago Police Department even begin to try and predict what she had in store? A smile began to form as Tiffany exhaled a lungful of acrid smoke and felt a warm feeling envelope her body, lifting her head and instantly finding the smile vanquished, the warmth turning into a suffocating, panic stricken chill. Up ahead, parked opposite the alleyway no less, sat a Chicago P.D patrol car, the officer inside throwing the door open and stepping onto the sidewalk. Within a second, paranoia took over and Tiffany found herself calmly turning on the spot and beginning to walk back towards the store, throwing a look back over her shoulder and seeing the officer marching after her. She wasn't sure whether it was nerves, deep down she knew it must be, but she didn't want to risk finding out. There was no way, no logical way at least, that they could know. Unless he had seen the Plymouth and was checking out the car. But if that was the case then why hadn't he marched down the alleyway? Why hadn't he started running the cars plates through the system? But sure as she could be, that officer was headed her way, another glance confirming such as she found the officer making headway through the medley of pedestrians, Tiffany searching for a place to hide as sanctuary appeared from nowhere, the glass doors of a huge stone fronted building opening as she approached, Tiffany reaching out and grabbing the door before quickly sliding into a small vestibule and away from the small crowd of pedestrians. Sinking into the corner and away from sight, she watched on intently as people passed in both directions, the police officer one of them as he marched past completely unaware of Tiffany's presence. A sigh of relief and Tiffany could breathe easy again, feeling her body loosen up as she suddenly felt a hand on her shoulder, jumping and giving a small scream as she spun a half circle and found herself face to face with a little old man, his free hand clutching a small pile of books to his chest, the smile on his face apologetic and gentle as he softly spoke.

"Oh my dear, I do hope I didn't alarm you." His voice had a deep tone. A husky quality.

"Well you fucking did!" Tiffany spat as she closed her eyes and blew the hair from her face in relief.

"I am so sorry." The man calmly continued. "But please there's no need for…"

"I know, I know. I just hate it when people do that." Tiffany said, looking over the old man's shoulder and seeing a large open planned interior. Tables surrounded by people of all ages, shelves chock full of books, a row of computers in the immediate background. "Where am I again?"

"The public library." The man replied with a chuckle. "Did you not intend to be here my dear?"

"No." Tiffany answered. "Not really. I mean... It's complicated."

"No need to explain." The old man smiled once again, his weathered face creasing as he did, the white hair sat either side of his head suddenly catching Tiffany's eye. "But you're here now, so why don't you take a look around. Maybe you could even consider joining?"

"The library?" Tiffany laughed innocently. "I don't think I'd get chance. Books aren't really my thing."

"We have the computers." The old man replied. "Although you don't need to become a member to use them. Or do you? I forget."

"What are the computers for?" Tiffany asked, looking over her host's shoulder and examining them again. "Thought you guys were all about books."

"Well it was against my wishes, believe you me, but it was out of my hands." He replied with a deflated sigh. "Still, they are proving rather popular. Bringing the younger people in at least. If it keeps a child off the street for an hour then so be it."

"But what do people do with them?" Tiffany asked, bemused to say the very least.

"The internet." The old man answered. "Amazing apparently."

"Internet?" Tiffany asked once again. "Never heard of it."

"It'll never catch on, you mark my words." The old man lifted a trembling hand, a solitary digit extended as he spoke, books still clutched to his chest. "They expect it to be the next big thing by all accounts, but I have my doubts."

"Really?" Tiffany asked, skeptical.

"The people that installed it said that come the next twenty years we won't be without it. Apparently everything will be done on the internet. Music, movies, news, computer games, shopping. You name it, we won't even have to leave our seats."

"Sounds kinda impossible if you ask me." Tiffany replied, pulling the packet of cigarettes from her jacket pocket. "So what do people use them for now?"

"Research mainly." The old man answered, lifting his hand and resting on top of the cigarettes, Tiffany lowering the packet as he then pointed politely to the no smoking sign. "We get a lot of students you see. Anything people need to know, the internet has the answers."

"Sounds very fascinating." Tiffany murmured, turning her head and casting a glance through the door of the library, the crowd mulling past, the police officer long gone as she clutched the packet of cigarettes tightly. "Well, duty calls."

"No problem my dear." The old man beamed as Tiffany turned to leave, placing a hand on the glass door of the library and allowing the librarian's words to filter through her brain one final time.

"Did you just say that internet thing has information on it?" She asked, spinning her head back towards the old man.

"Indeed it does." He nodded.

"And I can find out anything?" She asked, lifting her head in disbelief, her eyes never leaving the frail looking old man.

"Almost." He nodded once more, laughter escaping as he spoke.

"How do I join?" Tiffany asked, releasing the door handle and turning to face the old man, a spark igniting in her brain.

The little old man sat Tiffany at a terminal and introduced himself as Steve, the head librarian. With his balding head, flanked either side by thick tufts of snowy white hair, his face had a look of honesty as he smiled and asked Tiffany if she would like a drink. Tea, coffee, hot chocolate, he knew how cold it was out there and it was his mission to get the pretty young girl before him a hot drink to warm her through. Had he known the truth though, Tiffany wondered would Steve be as accommodating. Probably not, so it was better to humour the gentle old man and play along. Before she knew it there was a steaming cup of coffee by her side, the saucer also graced by a couple of biscuits as Steve allowed the system to load up and logged Tiffany in as a guest, showing her the basics before leaving her to it, no doubt to tend to some other helpless soul. Clicking on the browser icon and finding the box on the screen rapidly expand before her eyes, Tiffany found herself faced with a box, the cursor flashing as she stared at the screen with a sense of mystery, her eyes then dropping to the keyboard laid on the desk in front of her. To say she wasn't very gifted with such devices would have been an understatement, her hands lifting from the surface of the desk and hovering over the keys as she began to type slowly, letter by letter, the words 'CHARLES LEE RAY'. Grabbing the mouse and zipping it across the desk she had been amazed at how the device had interacted with the little pointer on screen, moving effortlessly as she allowed the cursor to hover over the 'search' button and clicked. Within seconds the search engine had retrieved the results of Tiffany's search, hundreds of thousands of pages matching with her words, the very first entry catching her eye as she gave the link a click and waited patiently for the page to load. At first glance Tiffany felt a slight anticlimax, the black on white text serving only to dampen her excitement as the page sprung to life. But as she sat and examined the text, she found herself becoming drawn in. The page was indeed about Charles Lee Ray, and had information buried deep within the paragraphs that not even Tiffany knew. She knew the aliases 'Chucky' and 'The Lakeshore Strangler' obviously. After all, who in and around the city of Chicago didn't? Who wasn't aware of the urban legend that had become Chucky? The myth alone had seen her late lover garner something of a reputation. A level of notoriety the likes of Bundy and Manson could only dream of. But what she had never known about was Chucky's ancestry. The Irish-American mother, a bartender and a dancer, despite her allegedly wealthy upbringing. The Austrian immigrant that was Chucky's father, a wife beating alcoholic in and out of prison from an early age, perhaps setting the scene for his son's own future, sowing the seeds early on as it were. As Tiffany scrolled through the page, reading line after line, she couldn't believe her eyes, the emotions surfacing after all these years as she felt a rollercoaster of nostalgia race by and sweep her from her feet as an early mugshot of Charles Lee Ray stared back at her from the screen. A wild eyed fascination as the young criminal stood and allowed the police to do their job, the boyish good looks evident even then as Tiffany clocked the date on Chucky's picture. June fourteenth 1968, which would have put Chucky at roughly around eighteen years old. As she continued scrolling the article went into even more detail, Maria Hemingway of Hackensack, New Jersey listed as being Chucky's alleged first murder victim, disturbing him as he illegally entered her house and proceeded to rob her and her husband. Though never proven in a court of law, Tiffany wondered exactly how much of that story was true. Any of it? If so then why hadn't she known about it? Reading on, she allowed her eyes to gorge on the screen, reading and sipping the coffee, hypnotized. According to the website, Chucky had remained very quiet ever since then, not interesting the police until the winter of 1986. Even then, the police weren't actively seeking Charles Lee Ray. No, the police were merely seeking the person responsible for a body washing up on the bank of the Chicago River, North-west of the Chicago Loop to be exact, a female later identified as one Vivian Van Pelt robbed and strangled before being cast into the freezing cold water. Little had they known, another body appearing just two weeks later. Strangled, bound at the hands and feet and with strange engravings carved into the skin by knife point, the body had been discovered along a similar stretch of the Chicago River the police now realising it to be a very strong possibility that there may be a serial killer on the loose. One by one the bodies built up. Not quickly but spread over a period of time as the police investigation did indeed lead the police to Charles Lee Ray, questioned after the family of one of his victims gave his name and description to the authorities, the late Catherine Hammond the only one of Chucky's victims to actually befriend him, Chucky unaware of the family and considering Catherine a lonely widow, ripe for the picking. Giving a small laugh and closing her eyes, Tiffany could remember the episode well. The police had dropped in on her and Chucky at one of their favourite hangouts, O'Grady's bar, reeling off question after question as they probed Chucky relentlessly. Every answer, every detail, scrutinized meticulously as Chucky kept his calm and simply sat back, Tiffany giving him his alibi for the night of Catherine's murder. Come to think of it, although only a few months before Chucky's death, Tiffany could swear that one of those officers had been Mike Norris. The very same Mike Norris that she now read about as her late boyfriend's demise was described in exceptional detail. The woman in the basement, Sarah Pirce, alerting the police as a game of cat and mouse began across the city, Norris coming across Chucky and hunting him down, shooting him in cold blood and leaving him for dead. The words burned as Tiffany read them, a fire growing in her belly as she reached the end of the article and skipped back a page, choosing the next link and once more casting her eyes across the mountains of text. This page practically skipped anything regarding Charles Lee Ray and instead chose to focus on the tall tales of possessed, killer dolls. The rantings of a mentally disturbed widow and single-mother Karen Barclay, her insistence that her son had become Chucky's next target. It was all in there, from John Bishop to the Barclay's, then from Phil and Joanne Simpson back to Andy Barclay yet again. The page discussed the location of Andy Barclay in great depth, the young man disappearing into the web of foster homes and juvenile facilities as he most likely sought to put his past behind him and move on. Once again, Tiffany skipped back to her search results and continued to investigate link after link, a wealth of information unlocked before her very eyes as she read and read, fascinated by what each page and article has to offer, something new every time, clicking on one page and scrolling down to a sub-section with the heading 'Acquaintances', shocked to come face to face with her own picture, the caption beneath explaining Tiffany Valentine to be one of a select handful of acquaintances of the late Charles Lee Ray, the picture itself being the mugshot, taken following her arrest in the department store back in 1990 after the attempted murder of former roommate Evan Carter. Suddenly remembering the lack of privacy a library had to offer, Tiffany looked up and took in her surroundings, nobody batting an eyelid as they continued with their tasks, the frail figure of Steve suddenly looming large as Tiffany turned and found him returning to the computer. With seconds to get her bearings, Tiffany fumbled with the mouse, hitting the 'back' button and finding the computer had frozen momentarily, the cursor changing to an egg timer as Tiffany's picture hung on the screen. Practically on top of her, his smile warm enough to melt even the feistiest of hearts, Steve approached with yet another drink, Tiffany plunging her finger into the power button of the computer monitor as the screen suddenly found itself plunged into darkness.

"Another coffee" Steve smiled as he placed the cup besides Tiffany, resting it on the desk and taking the empty cup away. "How are you finding it? Any problems?"

"No," Tiffany returned his smile, noticing his eyes fixed on the black screen. "Just having a rest that's all. The screen was a little bright. Hurts my eyes."

"Well we can turn the brightness down." Steve laughed, reaching for the monitors power button.

"No!" Tiffany snapped, her hand shooting to cover the button, a look of confusion appearing on Steve's face. "I mean, I just needed a rest is all. It's fine, honestly."

"Well if you're sure." Steve replied. "You need anything then don't be afraid to shout."

"I won't." Tiffany laughed as Steve turned and began to head back to his counter, a pile of books just waiting to be stamped before being reloaded on to their shelves. "Thanks Steve."

Watching as Steve slowly made his way back to the counter, finally happy that she had what could be classed as privacy Tiffany flicked the monitor back on and watched the screen ignite into life, her picture still staring blankly back at her. Although she hated to admit it, she looked like shit that night, the heavy rain of that cold September evening evident as her hair clung to her face, the mascara staining her cheeks as she stared emotionless into the lens of the camera. She did prefer her hair blonde though. That was a fact, her dark look a desperate measure as she sought to evade the unwanted attention of the police. Leaving nothing to chance as it were. Watching the computer finally catch up with itself, the screen reverting back to the search results, Tiffany continued to investigate page after page, soon enough finding herself treading through the same information time after time, nothing new as she glanced at the clock and noticed two hours had passed by in a blur. Eyes tired, head beginning to get heavy, Tiffany had just about given up on finding anything new when she noticed a page towards the bottom of the screen, the name Sarah Pirce mentioned in the same sentence as Charles Lee Ray, her attention well and truly grabbed. It was an old article, and nothing like the pages Tiffany had looked at so far. Gone were the paragraphs of neat text and crystal clear pictures, and in came pictures, actual photographs, of newspaper clippings and articles from November 1988. Headlines, front pages and articles from tabloids across America reporting the news that Charles Lee Ray, the notorious Lakeshore Strangler, had been identified at last. Gunned down as he attempted to evade arrest. Pictures of Chucky's body laying still in the burned out toy store had been obtained and featured heavily across the wide selection of clippings on display, statements from Chicago Police Department and the store owner himself also woven into the articles as Tiffany read. The story was hardly new to Tiffany. The man christened the Lakeshore Strangler fatally wounded by a trigger happy cop. The seeds planted after a mysterious call tipping the authorities off came from the abode of one Charles Lee Ray, the captive woman in the basement discovered in hysterics as blood poured from a stab wound. Eight months pregnant too. For the majority, this was repetitive, however one of the clippings had something hidden amongst the details that no other article did. Buried deep within a clipping from the Chicago Chronicle Tiffany did a double take, an idea blossoming as she read the last line again. Then again. She couldn't believe it. She couldn't believe that lurking within a newspaper clipping from 1988, out there on the 'internet' of all places, was the information she had been seeking all this time. The line of text reading as follows.

'**It was only upon arrival that authorities discovered the severity of the situation as Sarah Pirce, of Hyde Park, Chicago, lay sobbing and bloodied.**'

She couldn't believe it. She had an address for Sarah Pirce. 'The' Sarah Pirce to boot. Feeling a rush of optimism, Tiffany stood quickly from her seat and snaked her way between the desks, approaching the counter of the library and greeting Steve with her kindest smile.

"How are you doing?" He asked. "Is everything okay?"

"Everything's fine, don't worry. I haven't broken it." Tiffany laughed as she stood on her tip toes and cast her eyes over the back of the counter. "You don't happen to have a phone book do you?"

"A phone book? " Steve repeated Tiffany's question, thinking aloud as he stooped beneath the counter and began rummaging. "Indeed we do."

Standing and sliding the White Pages across the worn, wooden counter, Tiffany watched intently as he did so, grabbing the book and thanking the old man before returning to her desk and taking a seat, allowing the thick book to fall open across the desk before flipping the pages over and finding the name Sarah Pirce. Eyes flitting from book to screen, then screen to book, Tiffany could hardly contain her excitement as she matched the two together the Hyde Park address from the article corresponding with an entry in the phone book, the name S. Pirce appearing several times, only one of those names however accompanied by the address '5638 S Blackstone Ave, Hyde Park'. Feeling a surge of pleasure, Tiffany could have sung from the rooftops. At last she finally had something solid. Standing up from the desk and returning to the counter Tiffany asked Steve if he had a piece of paper and a pen she may borrow, hurriedly scribbling the address down before slamming the White Pages closed and returning it to Steve. Turning back to the computer, eager to get moving, Tiffany raced back to the desk and began to gather her things. Her handbag, her coat, the untouched packet of cigarettes all snatched in a hurry as Tiffany stopped in her tracks and once again stared at the screen, the various headlines and news clippings from Chucky's murder sitting there, igniting a thousand memories. The Lockport Guardian had given him front page, the image of him laying slumped across the toy store floor flanked by the headline **'****Serial Killer Fatally Shot'**. Other tabloids had announced the news in a less dramatic manner, the story confined to smaller articles within the newspapers, similar headings such as **'****Serial Killer Ray Gunned Down In Chicago Toy Store'**, **'****Killer finally Dead – Victim's Families Praise City Police'** and **'****Boy Claims Doll Possessed by Killer's Soul'** standing out against other stories, the latter obviously from the weeks following as the Barclay's tried every trick in the book to get their story out there. Suddenly, Tiffany had an idea, dropping her things and marching back to the counter her new-found friend, Steve, lifting his weathered face once again as Tiffany gestured over her shoulder and towards the computer.

"You got any way I can print some of this off?" She asked with a determined grin. "This shit would look great in a frame."

Stepping into the street, prints clasped firmly in hand, handbag hung from the shoulder of her leather jacket, Tiffany took a quick look up and down the road, the patrol car from earlier now absent, along with any police presence whatsoever as Tiffany breathed a sigh of relief and lit up a cigarette, cupping her hands around the flame of her lighter as she walked on, dazed and deep in thought. It was still early, and today had already been as productive as she could have hoped. Now, however, came the undesirable task of returning to Gorman's bar and grabbing the rest of her possessions, one last job before moving on, Tiffany lifting the papers in her hand and committing the scribbled words to memory as best she could.

'5638 S Blackstone Ave.'

Boy was somebody in for a surprise…

Turning from the busy road, the queue of traffic growing in length behind him, Captain Reginald Senior let the wheels of the unmarked police car slow to a crawl as he approached the scene ahead, devastation and chaos as the car finally came to a stop and he killed the engine. Lifting the cell phone from his pocket and observing the caller's name, Senior decided against answering, the time not quite right as he returned the phone to his pocket, the fifth missed call in an hour as he opened the door and stepped onto the wet tarmac, surveying the carnage before him. Police officers raced from one side of the street to the other, tents erected in the background to preserve the evidence and keep prying eyes at bay. To his immediate left, sat head bowed on the sidewalk, were two Chicago police officers, one sobbing as a fellow officer sought to comfort his colleague, the moment not lost as Senior stepped forward and dropped to a squatting position.

"Everything okay?" He asked, the two officers lifting their heads.

"I can't…" The female officer spat between rapid intakes of air. "I can't look at it."

"It's bad sir." Her partner quietly exhaled, his arm around her shoulders.

"I know." Senior whispered in response, a slight nod of his head.

"Who would do something like this?" The officer asked, his colleague starting to calm a little.

"That's what we aim to find out." Senior said, standing and looking towards the throng of activity, police officers and forensics teams trying not to interfere with one another as their work began. "You get yourselves home. That's an order."

Nodding in unison, the two officers remained seated, the enormity of the situation overwhelming to say the least as Captain Senior turned on the spot and made his way towards the crime scene, the street packed with patrol cars and ambulances as he snaked between the vehicles, lost amidst a sea of flashing blue light, and toward the police line. One tent erected on the road, partially covering the sidewalk, seemed to be longer than the tent that accompanied it, the peak of which could just be spotted in the background, the top of the apex poking just above row of bushes separating the sidewalk from the children's playground just beyond. Stooping and making his way beneath the police tape, Senior bellowed at the top of his voice, another officer turning from his post and noticing his hulking superior.

"Who's in charge here?" Senior's voice roared above the ambient noise of activity, the responding officer making his way directly towards him.

"I am sir." He replied, his youthful looks astounding Senior as he saluted.

"Okay Ellison," Senior asked, clocking Officer Ellison's badge. "What do we have?"

"Exactly what it says sir," Ellison replied firmly, pointing first to the two tents and then to the rear of the house. "Triple homicide. Two officers out front and the homeowner in the backyard."

"Cause of death?" Senior asked, turning and looking at the house, then turning back to the two tents, the bodies no doubt still hidden within.

"These two?" Ellison pointed once more to the two tents. "Decapitation. The one out back seems to be trauma from several stab wounds and asphyxiation. We'll know more when we get her back to the coroner's office I guess."

"Decapitation?" Senior gasped, a hollowness to his tone as he lifted a hand to his mouth in shock.

"Yes sir." Ellison replied, gesturing with one hand as he motioned for Captain Senior to follow, stepping between the individually labelled items on the ground. Everything that had been discovered so far now lay bearing a letter from A to Z. From the broken porcelain on the porch to the lone butt of a spent cigarette. Reaching the white tent erected by the side of the road, partially resting on the sidewalk, the young officer pulled open a flap of canvas and stepped aside as his superior entered. Although expected, the scene, the smell even, that awaited the Senior instantly made him feel physically sick, the headless corpse sitting in the passenger seat of the patrol car, still and unnatural, as though on display for all to witness, the blade of the axe still resting, buried deep into the steel supports of the headrest. Stepping up besides the door and noticing the name badge, Captain Senior felt a tear slide over his cheek as he fought back a barrage of emotions, the name of Officer Gloria Esposito emblazoned proudly across the left breast of her police uniform.

"Dear god." Senior's voice trembled, the shock knocking him for six.

"The head's in the footwell." Ellison softly spoke from behind, Senior's eyes involuntarily falling and finding Gloria's head. Eyes closed, skin pale, a look of peace, as though resting, Senior choked back the inevitable flood of tears as he blinked to clear his vision and noticed the faint daubing on Gloria's face. Narrowing his eyes and leaning in through the open window of the car, Senior focused and felt a ripple of revulsion as the daubing became clearer, the words 'TOLD YOU SO' marked on Gloria's face in dried blood. Spinning from the car window and unable to hold back, Captain Senior couldn't help himself as he vomited across the tarmac, Officer Ellison watching on uneasily as he gave the Captain time to compose himself.

"Sir…" He asked, Senior lifting a hand in a calming motion.

"I'm fine." He said, bent double, his voice low as he gestured with a thumb. "I take it Officer McCain is just over these bushes?"

"Yes sir." Ellison replied, a silence breaking, hesitation as Ellison continued. "Most of him is."

"I don't need to see any more." Captain Senior said, standing upright and gingerly making his way to the exit of the tent, the younger officer following on as the two men stepped through and into the bright November morning. Standing and taking a strong lungful of air, Senior surveyed the scene once again, the forensics teams placed strategically, cameras flashing, lenses capturing every tiny detail as they continued to build a scenario and establish a chain of events for the oncoming investigation. "The fourth Pirce woman. Where is she?"

"Out back sir." Ellison replied, beginning to march off towards the house, casting a glance over his shoulder as he reached the gate by side of the property. "Better to go this way. Don't want to contaminate the scene."

"Our killer didn't use the gate?" Senior asked.

"Doesn't look like it." Ellison said. "Looks like a struggle took place on the ground floor of the house before spilling into the rear garden. Then our witness saw a dark haired woman, mid thirties, dash straight back through the house and into the street."

"Did our witness see anything else?" Senior probed on.

"Watched as our girl took off through the playground over the road." Ellison answered as he stepped through the gate and stepped aside, the Captain following. "Then it was a bit of a blur apparently. Our team's backup arriving around the same time."

"Backup?" Senior asked puzzled.

"Yes sir. From what I can make out there was an emergency call from this address. Not for long though. Our victim screaming about somebody trying to kill her before the line went dead."

"I see." Senior mused, deep in thought as his mind raced. "Our witness saw nothing else then?"

"Saw our girl enter a red car over the other side of the playground." Ellison replied over his shoulder as the two men reached the garden to the rear of the house, the familiar looking white tent taking pride of place across the spongy, drowned grass. "Of course it was dark, and from a distance, so the colour may be a little off. But apparently it was a big car. A classic."

"Good, good." Senior muttered as they reached the tent, Ellison once again zipping open the canvas and following his superior inside. Compared to the tent out front, the scene that now greeted the two officers seemed relatively calm as they both came to a stop, the body laying face down in the slowly decreasing pool of rain water. Once again, items surrounding the body had been tagged by forensics, including a solitary puncture wound to Sarah's back. Beside the corpse, laying loosely in the mud and grass, was the severed end of a nylon washing line, blood marking the length of cable sporadically. "So what do we know Ellison?"

"Fight inside," Ellison began, pointing left and right. "Spilled out here, then looks like our murderer cuts the washing line and proceeds to strangle our victim to death. Maybe throwing in a knife wound to hurry things along."

"That's the way it looks to me too." Senior nodded, running his eyes over the scene. "Now we just find ourselves faced with the same question."

"Which is sir?"

"Why, Ellison." Senior whispered. "Why Sarah Pirce? What have these women done to deserve this?"

"Nobody knows sir." Ellison replied. "But we're not just dealing with that now."

"Meaning?" Senior asked, bemused.

"We're dealing with a cop killer." Ellison sighed.

"Unfortunately, that seems to be the case." Senior nodded, lifting the cell phone from his pocket, the almost inaudible ringtone continuing as he looked at the name on screen. 'Valerie Esposito'. A call that Captain Senior knew he could no longer choose to ignore. "If you'll excuse me Ellison, I need to take this."

"No problem sir." Ellison saluted and turned on the spot, making his way from the tent and leaving the Captain alone to take his call. Pressing the button and lifting the phone to his ear Captain Senior took a deep breath as he prepared to take the hardest call of his life.

"Valerie…" He answered, closing his eyes as he prepared to deliver the news. "I'm so sorry."

The rapid breathing emanating down the phone line suddenly gave way to horrendous cry as Senior fell silent and allowed the caller time to compose themselves.

All he could hope for right now, was that Officer Wan had made more progress than he.

Sitting behind a desk, perched along the back wall of Chicago Police Department's research department, Officer Harold Wan lifted a weary hand and ran it through his head of thick black hair, the light of the computer screen eventually taking its toll following a solid shift, working through the night, no stone unturned as Harold worked tirelessly to seek the answers he needed. And now, as he sank back in his chair, the spongy seat losing all comfort hours ago as it molded itself around the contours of Harold's body, he turned his attention from the screen and to the handwritten notes to his right hand side, the notebook lying open beside the mouse in Harold's hand as he briefly scanned through the endless lines of frantically scribbled notes before allowing his eyes to flit back to the screen, a smile spreading rapidly across his lips as he exhaled. A sigh of relief. A groan of satisfaction as he looked at the picture staring back at him from the monitor, the young female staring vacantly as she posed for her mugshot, the board in her hands baring all manner of details. But most importantly a name and a date.

Valentine T.

9-20-1990

Lifting both arms and placing his hands behind his head, Harold leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes.

"Bingo."

The growling engine of the Plymouth came to an abrupt halt as Tiffany entered the parking lot of Gorman's Bar and came to a standstill, killing the engine with one quick twist of the wrist. Lifting her head and peering out from behind the oversized shades perched upon the bridge of her nose, she allowed her eyes to sweep across the gravel and towards the red brick building before her, a silence enveloping the car. The broken window still sat gaping, the remnants of glass strewn across the floor serving as a reminder of the brawl breaking out between the two bikers just days before. The doors of the entrance to the bar still hung precariously from their hinges, no sign of life as Tiffany quietly threw open the heavy door of the Plymouth, grabbed her handbag and stepped into the late morning air, the gravel beneath her feet crunching as she twisted on the spot and headed to the trunk of the car, lifting it open and retrieving the hold all from within. No cars. No bikes. No music. Nothing. The place seemed to be a ghost town as Tiffany closed the trunk and slung the hold all over her shoulder, stepping quickly as she raced across the parking lot and towards the wide open doors of the bar, a gentle breeze following as she reached the doors and came to a stop. Peering around the corner she felt her heart race, the blood pumping through her veins as she observed the bar area and found the scene to be a familiar one. Everything just the way she had left it merely days ago as she set off across town and towards Sarah Pirce number three. It was a true testament to just how much respect people held for Selena, the establishment laying wide open to potential looters as she sat in a jail cell unable to lift a finger. But more than that, it served as a sign of just how much fear Selena had been able to conjure up in such a short time. Nobody daring to take advantage as she and her business sat prone. Ripe for the picking. Heading inside and across the filthy floor of the bar, Tiffany's sneakers barely touched the surface as she quietly reached the top of the staircase and grabbed the banister, swinging her body a full half turn and beginning her descent into the basement, her sanctuary awaiting as she skipped two steps at a time and pretty soon found herself face to face with the door to her room. Only this time, something was different. The lock hanging from it's housing as the door hung slightly open, rocking ever so slightly as Tiffany placed the palm of her hand upon the surface of the door and slowly pushed. Gradually swinging open, Tiffany peered in from behind the door and swept the room from left to right, then back again as she examined every square inch. Nothing seemed to have been moved. At least nothing obvious anyway. The bed was still as she had left it, the broken glass of the tequila bottle still lay scattered in all directions, if anybody had been in here then they had obviously found nothing of value and retreated immediately. Maybe not taking advantage of Selena's predicament, but to hell with the help. The door now hanging fully open, Tiffany stepped in and felt her pulse calm, a breath of relief as she raced across the dusty concrete floor and threw the hold all on the bed, her handbag quickly landing beside it. Turning and crossing the floor, Tiffany threw open her wardrobe and reached inside, grabbing handfuls of clothes and turning back to the bed, ramming them inside the hold all and repeating the procedure until she found the wardrobe bare, what little clothes and shoes she owned now sitting within the bulging bag as Tiffany hurriedly pulled the zip closed, struggling as she did so, the overpacked bag swelling under the pressure from within. Dropping to her knees, Tiffany grunted and groaned, struggling as best she could as she fought against the zipper, suddenly feeling her spine stiffen as a voice growled out behind.

"You got a lot of nerve coming back here!" The thick Hispanic accent cut through the air, Tiffany caught unawares as she momentarily lowered her guard, failing to notice the footsteps coming to a stop in the doorway. Spinning on her knees and completely taken aback she took in the figure blocking her escape, her only exit, Selena's heavily tattooed arms gripping either side of the door frame as her scarred face contorted in anger, her thick lips twisting in a snarl as she spat vitriol in Tiffany's direction.

"Selena…" Tiffany gasped, surprise in her tone as she quickly turned and finally pulled the zipper tightly shut, spinning on her knees once more, returning instantly towards her friend. "They let you out? Great."

"Save it." Selena spat as she lowered her arms and strode confidently into the room, casting a glance along either side of the basement as she slowly approached Tiffany, reaching her in no time at all and dropping to a squatting position before her. "Where's my money Valentine?"

"Money?" Tiffany asked, feigning confusion. "I don't know what you…"

Before the words could leave her lips, Tiffany felt an explosion beside her ear, Selena's open palm connecting with a sickening slap, the ringing sound lingering for a few seconds before slowly dying.

"Don't you fucking lie to me." Selena raised her hand, a solitary index finger extended in Tiffany's face.

"I told you…" Tiffany began. "I don't know…"

Another slap. This time the other side as Tiffany felt her head jerk under the impact, the ringing noise coming on again as her ear ignited in pain.

"I thought you were smarter than this." Selena sighed, placing the palms of her hands upon her thighs and standing up straight, her head swinging from right to left as she did so. "You know? Biting the hand that feeds you? Not a good idea."

Dropping back onto her bum and lifting a hand to her ear, a burning pain beginning to creep over it, Tiffany lifted her eyes and watched on as Selena scanned the basement with determination, eyes sweeping across every square inch as she finally stopped and allowed a smile to grace her lips, target acquired as she spun on the spot and looked over Tiffany's shoulder and towards the bed. The crumpled sheets, the jagged pieces of glass laying across the floor, nothing stopped Selena as she strode towards the bed, Tiffany shuffling to one side as Selena leaned forward, grabbing Tiffany's handbag and lifting it from the stained sheets.

"Well, well." Selena smiled as she turned her head and flashed Tiffany a quick smile, thrusting her hand into the bag and starting to rummage around, immediately withdrawing a handful of crumpled bank notes. "What do we have here?"

"That's not what you think." Tiffany answered quickly. Her plans disappearing before her eyes.

"Bullshit!" Selena growled, throwing the handbag back into the bed sheets, completely oblivious as the handle of Tiffany's handgun fell free, the firearm now partially exposed amongst the bedding as Selena turned back towards Tiffany and dropped to a squatting position once more.

"Honestly." Tiffany said, remaining calm. "There's only a few hundred there."

"That about covers the cash register." Selena answered, her face smug, her tone exuding an arrogance. "Now what about the insult?"

"Well," Tiffany paused, a dryness lacing her words as she considered her reply. "That accent of yours is fucking hilarious."

Before Tiffany could laugh, before she could even breathe, Selena let fly with a grunt and grasped her hair by the roots, standing and lifting her former friend in one fluid, sickening motion as she curled her spare hand into a fist and swung, the bank notes folding with her fingers as the knuckles connected with Tiffany's chin and sent her flying across the basement floor. Dust blew from the concrete as Tiffany landed with a skid, her leather jacket taking the brunt of her fall as she came to a stop beside her bed, the crunch of glass audible as Tiffany rolled onto her back and allowed a long, drawn out groan to escape her lungs. Knowing Selena to waste no time, expecting a follow up attack, Tiffany tried to shake the cobwebs clear, rolling onto her front and pressing herself from the floor, the glass cutting into her palms slightly as she did so, staggering to her knees and reaching across the bed and towards her handbag. The moment passed quickly, Tiffany's hand digging inside as she felt the cold metal of the handgun on her skin, about to grasp hold as the air suddenly raced from her chest. Selena now stood beside her, landing a swift kick to the stomach, the gun escaping Tiffany's grip as she grabbed whatever she could, crying out in pain and plunging her face into the sheets of the bed. Hand locking firmly around the mysterious object she had found in her bag, Tiffany gripped for dear life as Selena grabbed her shoulders and pulled her to her feet, spinning her on the spot, Tiffany seizing her moment and acting fast, the pain taking a few seconds to register as Selena staggered back in shock. The handle of the knife now protruding from her sternum, Selena let her eyes fall on Tiffany before dropping to the handle of the blade now stood proud of her vest. Without saying a word Selena grabbed the handle and pulled, the pain evident, yet no sign of any discomfort as she yanked the weapon free and observed the blade, now dripping with blood.

"You just fucking stab me Valentine?" She laughed, sadistic bemusement in her tone as she examined the blade closer still. "Is this a fucking nail file?"

Surprised by Selena's resolve, Tiffany froze to the spot. Not the effect she had expected as she found herself involuntarily dropping to the floor, now sat with her back to the bed frame, Selena upon her yet again, dispatching the knife across the basement floor before grabbing Tiffany by the jacket and yanking her to her back to her feet, fury etched into every pore, a sickening sound as Selena leaned back and planted her forehead into Tiffany's nose. The world spinning, her head began to dance as Tiffany felt her body fall numb, a weightless feeling as she landed on the bed and felt the sheets billow out either side of her body. She tried to open her eyes, the stars floating in every conceivable direction, and was alarmed at the sight that greeted her, Selena now climbing onto the bed and straddling her, thighs either side of Tiffany's waist, pillow clamped firmly in her hands as she took advantage and leaned forward. Tiffany tried to scream, her cries loud and long, but soon dwindling to nothing more than a muffled whimper as Selena lay the pillow across her face and applied pressure, the warm, stifled feeling making Tiffany's heart race as she began to panic. Arms lashing frantically either side of her body, Tiffany attempted to kick free, wriggle out of it, but it was no good Selena's weight increasing as Tiffany began to feel her chest tighten in terror. Desperation taking over, Tiffany gritted her teeth and tried to stay calm, her spasms beginning to slow as she felt her energy levels steadily fall, lungs steadily succumbing to the lack of oxygen, her arms still sweeping across the sheets of the bed as she gave one final push, one final attempt at salvation, feeling something by her side, buried deep within the sheets of the filthy bed as her instincts took over and she folded her fingers around the cold, metal handle of the gun that had just moments ago resided in her handbag. Air beginning to thin, head feeling lighter with every second, Tiffany lifted the gun quickly and aimed as best she could, squeezing the trigger and firing blindly into the pillow, her world instantly thrown into a deafening silence as the explosion rang out beside her ear. The heat from the gunshot burned Tiffany's cheek, the hole in the pillow, left in the wake of the speeding bullet, now smoking as the silence gradually gave way to a high pitched ringing, the weight upon Tiffany's body suddenly intensifying as Selena fell still, hanging in position for what seemed an eternity before suddenly slumping forward and spreading herself across Tiffany's upper body. Lifeless and still. The struggle now over, the situation calming, Tiffany snapped her head to one side and sucked in a huge lungful of air. Rapid, shallow breaths as she felt her chest strain against the weight of Selena's limp body. Lifting her knees to her chest as best she could, Tiffany gave a long groan as she rocked back, momentum working with her as she then rocked forward and struggled to a sitting position. Thighs spread either side of Tiffany's hips, Selena's corpse fell backwards as Tiffany sat, landing with a sickening thud upon the dusty basement floor, a crumpled heap as Tiffany looked on, adrenaline still pumping as she continued to catch her breath. The bullet had passed straight through the pillow and entered Selena's face at an angle, the entry wound still smouldering beneath her left eye, the exit wound hidden just behind the right ear as a pool of blood slowly began to appear. Sweeping across the floor in a slow, yet constant manner, the ever expanding puddle spread itself perfectly, a circle of crimson growing around Selena's disfigured cranium. Standing and wondering what the hell had just happened, Tiffany suddenly had a thought, her hair standing on end as she felt the goosebumps spring into life up and down her body. The gun shot. It only took one person, one passer by, to have heard. If that were the case then the police could very well be on their way this very second. Panicking, her mind racing, Tiffany struggled to get her bearings. What now? Where to go? How could she be sure not to leave any clues should the police eventually come knocking? Swinging her head from left to right the basement seemed huge, expanding rapidly as all manner of voices screamed at Tiffany from inside her head.

'Run!' One would say.

'Be calm.' Another would mutter.

But as she found herself fighting off each voice, the differing instructions conflicting with one another, Tiffany suddenly found an idea forming somewhere deep inside her brain. Sparks, igniting the dusty wheels of creativity as she examined the rickety old gas boiler with a mischievous grin, memories of the recently incinerated Mrs Appleby helping conjure up a plan as she quickly turned her attention to the pile of odds and ends strewn in the corner of the basement. Rope and duct tape being just two of the items on view as she allowed her eyes to fall briefly on the basement door before turning her attention to the beams running parallel along the ceiling, then finally, back to the body of Selena Thomas now laying on the floor.

If the police did come calling, then it was only fitting that Tiffany left them a surprise.

Sitting behind his desk, Captain Reginald Senior allowed the phone to ring on. The chimes seeming distant somehow as he cradled his head in his hand, fingers rubbing his temples as he sought to ease the pain. If only there was something, anything, he could do. Give her another assignment. Hold her back a year. Extend her training at the academy. But it was a futile thought. What had transpired was irreversible, he knew that. But that didn't alter anything. It didn't stop his brain from playing out a seemingly infinite number of alternate scenarios, each one ending in the survival of Gloria Esposito. Her mother had broken down on the phone, delivering the news a job that Reginald had done time and time again, only this time it had been too much, Gloria's mother buckling instantly as her, and every other parent's, worst fear became a reality, the cries down the phone leaving Reginald speechless, lost for words as she became inconsolable with grief. Now, as he sat in his office, the phone blaring constantly from its cradle, all he could do was stare vacantly into his own lap and think. How had it come to this? What kind of person were they dealing with here? What kind of person could be so hell bent on destruction that these were the lengths they were willing to go to? Closing his eyes, a tear worked its way free and fell from his cheek. The short journey to the fabric of Reginald's trousers seeming to take aeons, the small drop of moisture crashing in slow motion and splashing upon impact. This next hour was going to be a hard one, no doubt about it. A press conference downstairs called in attempt to get what little information the police had into the public, everything in the book to weed out this woman. This vile, sick woman that had the entire city looking over its shoulder as she carried on her game. Relentless, merciless not one iota of compassion for the victims as body after body turned up, the police now dealing with a different beast entirely as the media cranked up the pressure. Exhaling with a deflated sense of being, Senior lifted his head as a knocking sound emanated from the door to his office, the sound reverberating around the room as the door slowly opened and in stepped officer Harold Wan. An apprehensive look on his face Wan looked first at the Captain, and then to the ringing phone, closing the door behind him as he strode quietly up to the desk and stood to attention.

"Sir." Wan greeted his superior, the atmosphere in the office not going unnoticed.

"Officer Wan." Senior replied with a sigh, leaning back in his chair as he smiled softly.

"You want to get that?" Wan asked, his eyes dropping to the phone, ringing on and on.

"Not especially." Senior said, the ringing suddenly ceasing and the room cast into silence as the two men faced each other across the desk. "Couldn't have been too important, could it?"

"I guess not sir." Harold replied, a shrug of the shoulder as he brought his arms to his front, the paperwork and cassettes in his hand catching Captain Senior's attention.

"Let me stop you there Harold." Senior said, grabbing the arms of his luxurious leather seat and beginning to sit forward. "Whatever it is, I don't have time right now. The media are assembling a gallows down in the press room and yours truly looks to be first for the noose."

"We have her sir." Wan interrupted, his tone flat, to the point, Senior stopping dead in his tracks and lifting an astonished face as Wan spread the files and pictures across the desk before him, singling out a single picture for closer examination, the picture being a still from the Regency's CCTV footage..

"Say that again." Senior said, emotionless, almost as if not daring to believe the news.

"I believe this woman to be Tiffany Valentine sir." Wan pointed to the slightly blurred image beneath Senior's nose, pulling another image from one of the files and placing the two pictures side by side, this new image a mugshot dated September 1990, Senior's eyes flitting from one to the other as Wan now opened the file and started to read. "Not much on here at first. Few pick ups for suspected possession of narcotics, soliciting, aggravated assault. Questioned, cautioned but never anything else. File goes pretty quiet until September 1990 when she was apprehended for the attempted murder of her room-mate. The charge was downgraded to self defence and she served her time. Released in June 1993 into an inmate rehabilitation program. Seemed to be going relatively well until roughly a year later she just ups and vanishes one night."

"Nobody knew where she went?" Senior asked inquisitively.

"Her sponsor was incinerated in a house fire." Wan replied, reading on. "The house was vapourised, Valentine disappeared and a warrant was put out for her arrest. Seems we wanted to talk to her regarding the death of her probation officer, Rita Hernandez. Originally ruled an accident after the sponsor confirmed Valentine's innocence. However there appear to be doubts following the discovery of a car near the area."

"A car?" Senior asked, puzzled as WAN continued.

"The car was found at the bottom of a lake, occupied by the body of a Chicago Police officer by the name of Will Hunter. One of Hernandez's colleagues here in the city, worked in Forensics. At first it was assumed Hunter lost control of the car following a blow out, one of the cars tyres indicating as such. It was only when a post mortem was performed that the coroner attributed the cause of death to be severe lacerations to the head and neck."

"He was murdered." Senior nodded, now beginning to build a picture in his head. "How does this connect this Valentine girl to what we have now? Where's link?"

"I'm getting to that sir. See I've been researching." Wan started, his superior listening intently. "Investigating as you requested. I traced the records for Sarah Pirce, looked into the archives, saw what we had."

"Which was?" Senior asked, running his eyes across the assortment of papers and photographs Wan had set out across the desk.

"Not much to be honest." Wan answered honestly. "But there was something. Buried, and we're talking deep. "

"Okay." Senior nodded. "Are we playing a game or something here Wan? Am I supposed to be guessing or are you planning on sharing whatever you found?"

"You ever hear of the Lakeshore Strangler sir?" Wan answered immediately, the air in the room suddenly turning quiet as Senior leaned back in his chair and sucked the air through his teeth.

"It would be hard to forget." Senior replied with an exasperated sigh. "What does that have to do with this? Charles Lee Ray died ten years ago. Mike Norris put him down personally."

"I get that sir, but the Lakeshore Strangler is the only case of the last twenty five years to involve anybody by the name of Sarah Pirce."

"Could it not be a coincidence?" Senior asked.

"Charles Lee Ray's file also happens to be list Tiffany Valentine as a known acquaintance." Wan responded, watching his superiors jaw drop in shock.

"You're joking." Senior asked, half serious as he looked over the plethora of paperwork.

"You remember anything from the night Ray died sir?" Wan continued, his question forcing Senior to recount as best he could.

"Not too much." Senior answered. "Ray had damn near terrorised this city for some time. Next thing we knew there was a hostage situation. Some girl tied up in his basement. She managed to alert us and we took it from there."

"The name of the girl from Ray's basement was Sarah Pirce." Wan started, allowing the words to linger slightly as he laid his tangled tale in front of Senior, stripped bare. "Now it seems to be pretty clear that Ray and Valentine were involved romantically. Add to that her date of birth, which puts her around the same age as our witness's description, not to mention the message we found at the murder scene of Sarah Pirce number three. 'I died in '88'. I figure she dyed her hair black and decided to come back to the city. No doubt feeling she has a score to settle with Pirce. The 'other woman' so to speak."

"You're telling me that this whole thing," Senior gestured with outstretched arms, an anger building inside as he spoke. "This entire case. All these dead girls. It's all because of some petty vendetta? Revenge?"

"I don't think that's her only motive sir." Wan answered. "Valentine obviously has a score to settle, but I think she also holds Pirce responsible for Ray's death."

A pause from both men as a silence filled the room once again.

"Think about it." Wan carried on. "Pirce called the cops. Ray died that same night. Shot by a cop. Valentine's motive is revenge, but not just because she blames Ray's wandering eye on Pirce. It's because Pirce ended up being the cause of his demise. In a roundabout kind of way."

"Jesus." Senior gasped. "Then if that's the case then why all the killings?"

"Sir?" Wan asked, puzzled at the question.

"Why not just go for that one woman? Why all these innocent people?" Senior asked once again.

"My guess?" Wan said. "Valentine doesn't have a clue who she's after. There's no picture. In fact very little in way of details regarding Sarah Pirce full stop. But it looks like she's so determined to avenge Ray that she's prepared to take out all seven women listed in the phone book."

"I don't believe it." Senior sat back and ran his hand over his head. "This is a nightmare."

"It gets worse too." Wan said as he lifted the cassette from the surface of Captain Senior's desk and approached the TV set in the far corner of the office, flicking the power switch as he slid the cassette into the VCR. "Let me show you something."

As he looked on, the screen bursting into life, the grainy black and white image steadily fading into view, Captain Senior took a few seconds to assess the situation, noticing the video to be incredibly similar to the footage obtained from the Regency Hotel the day before. Only this footage wasn't from a hotel lobby or some random corridor overlooking hundreds of guests, coming and going without batting a eyelid, the camera above working constantly, twenty four hours a day. No, this footage, the scene playing out on screen, became suddenly familiar as Senior recognised the layout of the room. The chairs lined in a row, the room practically empty except for a couple of people sat dead centre of the screen. Senior couldn't be positive, but at first glance it looked to be a man and a woman.

"What is this?" He asked.

"This is the waiting area outside the interview rooms." Wan answered, pointing to the screen as he spoke. "Downstairs in this very building."

"I can see that Wan." Senior snapped. "I mean why are you showing me this?"

"Just watch." Wan politely responded, stepping back and allowing the scene to unfold. The man sat beside the woman seemed to stir in his seat, taking a few seconds as he looked left to right and took in the surroundings, standing and turning his head to the desk positioned beneath the camera and speaking, his heavily pixelated mouth moving as he did so. Although the video was devoid of sound, whatever had been said had obviously been met with a negative response, the man running his fingers through his flowing long hair and speaking again, his body language suggesting there to be a certain level of anger present as he leaned forward and lifted a long arm in a pointing gesture. Once again the response seemed unappreciated as the man lifted a heavy boot and planted it into the back of one of the waiting rooms many seats, kicking out and sending it zipping across the floor and into the desk, disappearing to the bottom of the screen. The next thing Senior noticed was two officers approaching from the bottom of the screen, obviously from behind the secure confines of their desk as they approached with night sticks in hand, arms raised in a calming peaceful motion as they appealed for calm. The man suddenly shifted his body, all weight on his standing leg as he lunged forward and aimed a curled, heavy fist in the direction of the officers. Ducking quickly, years of experience standing the two men in good stead, the officers dodged the attack and threw themselves forward, contact made as they forced the man from his feet and backwards, the woman previously going unnoticed now standing and avoiding the conflict as the three men fell to the floor, chairs flying in all directions as the officers attempted to restrain the man. Fight now in full flow, Senior and Wan watched on together, all attention on the fight as the woman stepped to the side and began to approach the camera slowly. Before either men could say a word another influx of officers appeared from the right of the screen, all rushing straight to the altercation and helping to subdue the man, pepper spray now used as a barrage of nightsticks struck the man. Legs, arms, torso, the blows quickly rendered the man incapacitated as the fight seemed to dwindle and the officers began to step back one at a time, the woman now almost disappearing beneath the camera as Wan lifted his finger and jabbed the pause button on the VCR, the frame freezing instantly, juddering slightly as the cassette fought to continue playing.

"Right there." Wan said as he stepped back from the TV set, Senior narrowing his eyes as he observed the shaky image.

"What am I looking at?" He asked, confused.

"Right here." Wan answered, raising his hand and extending his index finger and diverting Senior's attention not to the fight in the middle of the screen but to the woman disappearing beneath the camera, the image remarkably clear towards the bottom of the screen.

"What about her?" Senior asked.

"I think this is Valentine." Wan replied, finger jabbing the screen. "We booked her in as Tiffany Hendricks just a few days ago. Check out the tattoo above the right breast."

"Meaning?"

"It's a common practice for people using fake names to keep their forename." Wan answered. "Saves them from slipping up. Also Valentine has a tattoo above the right breast listed under the 'Distinguishing Features' on her file. Broken heart, accompanied by a name. That name being 'Chucky'. Not to mention she's identical to the woman from the Regency footage."

"Dear god." Senior gasped, eyes sweeping from the TV screen to the still from the Regency footage. "You're right. Why the hell didn't we pick her up there and then?"

"As I said, fake I.D." WAN answered. "She kept the forename Tiffany, but we had her listed as Hendricks. Not Valentine. Plus she was brought in as part of a vice raid on a bar in the city. We had no reason to hold her. She's obviously not stupid. She knows there's a warrant out for her arrest. I got lucky finding this to be honest. The guy on the video is claiming police brutality."

"Didn't we have anything to hold her?" Senior asked, anger in his tone. "Prints? Nothing?"

"For some reason the file has no prints." Wan replied. "I have no idea why. But she wasn't printed on the day anyhow. Her interview was a formality. We were under the impression she only worked at the bar. That she was a nobody."

"I can't believe this." Senior said, leaning forward and cradling his head in his hands, his mind racing. Suddenly, an idea fell upon him, lifting his head and looking straight at Officer Wan. "Where was she picked up again?"

"A bar in the city." Wan answered, lifting the notes from the desk and reading from them. "Gorman's bar?"

"I know it." Senior nodded as he spoke, grabbing the phone from the cradle in the middle of his desk and beginning to dial.

"What's the plan sir?" Wan asked as his superior continued to dial, his eyes never leaving the phone as he answered Wan's question.

"If we're lucky, then she's there now."

"You think she'd be stupid enough to go back to the bar?" Wan asked, a hint of pessimism in his voice.

"She doesn't know we're onto her." Senior finished dialing and returned his attention to Wan. "I'm sending SWAT in there. I want this bitch nailed. Right now. Dead or alive!"

"I see sir." Wan nodded. "But say she's not there. What about the next Sarah Pirce?"

"We cover them in the meantime." Senior replied immediately. "Patrol cars outside their houses. Follow them wherever they go. Leave nothing to chance."

"Understood sir." Wan nodded again.

"Do we have an address for the Sarah Pirce mentioned in Ray's file?" Senior asked.

"We do sir, but there's some bad news with regards to that. We only have a street name. Nothing more."

"I wouldn't call that bad news Wan." Senior smiled. "We can go door-to-door if we have to."

"Sir…" Wan's voice hung in the air as Senior looked at him, phone still glued to his ear as he waited for the relevant department . "That's not the bad news."

"How do you mean?" Senior asked.

"Pirce's address. The street name." Wan paused. "It wasn't in any of our files. It was in the public domain. Internet, archives. Whatever I have on Sarah Pirce, then there's every chance Valentine could find it too."

"Fuck!" Senior spat through gritted teeth. Could today get any worse? "What's the street name?"

"South Blackstone Avenue sir." Wan said. "It's in the Hyde Park area."

"I'll send a car over." Senior sighed, his phone call finally answered as he lifted a hand to Wan in a pausing motion, barking his orders down the line with a fire to his tone. "I need a SWAT team assembling ASAP. I don't care what the protocol is. Page whoever you can and have them here within the hour."

Dropping the phone into its cradle with a slam, standing as he did so, Senior pulled the waist of his trousers up and addressed Wan again.

"You did well Wan." He said, his mind obviously on other things. "But I need you to find out whatever else you can."

"Will do sir." Wan nodded, watching Senior stride across the office, following him to the door. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm rounding up a team." Senior pulled open the door and waved Wan through. "I'm heading over to Gorman's Bar with SWAT. Bit of luck, that bitch is there and we'll find her."

"Very well sir." Wan stepped through the door, stopping in his tracks as Senior grabbed his arm mid stride. Shocked, Wan looked into Senior's face and felt a chill as his superior spoke.

"I want you to understand something Wan." Senior spoke, his voice low, his tone stern, his face lacking any emotion as he continued. "Word gets out about this then I will not be happy."

"Sir?" Wan asked, surprised.

"Either the media or the commissioner finds out we had this bitch in custody, then released her, without charge, to continue killing, then I'm finished. And I'll take who ever I can with me. Am I making myself clear officer Wan?"

"Yes sir." Harold gulped.

"Crystal clear."

The street lights up and down South Blackstone Avenue flickered into life. One by one, a domino effect, as Tiffany watched on from the entrance of the alley, the darkness of the November afternoon reaching such levels as to trigger the power. No doubt, right now, hundreds of thousands of street lights throughout the city of Chicago would be following suit. Bestowing light upon whichever suburb, highway and inch of the city. Right now though, as Tiffany lifted the cigarette from her lips and exhaled a cloud of toxic, nicotine stained smoke, the lights served as something of a hindrance. The light positioned right at the end of the alley illuminating above her and bathing the area in a fluorescent flicker. The approaching rumble of thunder, followed just seconds later by a flash of lightning, signaled the approach of a small storm. The rain on its way, just as predicted by every radio, television and newspaper in Chicago. Luckily enough though, the rain had yet to make an appearance. The street still remained dry under foot, although a dense build up of leaves from the trees staggered up and down the street had left it practically impossible to tread undetected, no scenario left unimagined as Tiffany drove across the city and towards her destination. An approach had been thought out though as the Plymouth powered through the traffic. Weaving between station wagons and coaches, the roads beginning to crowd as people no doubt prepared for Thanksgiving. Now she was sure, positive beyond reasonable doubt, that this Sarah Pirce, the one she had come to meet, was the real deal, she had decided to divert from her quickly and quietly mantra and instead take her time. After all, this wasn't case of taking out some random resident and moving on. No. She could drag this out. Take her time. Make Sarah Pirce pay for what she did, not just to Tiffany, but to Chucky too. Naturally this would have to be done somewhere they stood more or less zero chance of being interrupted. The only question being where? The answer coming in a moment of enlightenment as Tiffany simply gave a smile and pressed the throttle of the Plymouth to the floor. Now, as she stood opposite Sarah Pirce's house, the whole thing seemed to be a bit of a waste of time, the house in darkness. Bereft of life as Tiffany sneaked around the perimeter and investigated as best she could before retreating to her current hiding place, the alleyway opposite. There was no question this was the woman Tiffany was after, the one startling clue coming as Tiffany looked on through Sarah's living room window and lay her eyes upon the canvas sat in the easel. The bright yellow petals of the flower in Sarah's art instantly cast Tiffany's memory back to the winter of 1988. The basement of Chucky's apartment being filled with the same, colorful flowers just days after his death. Now as Tiffany flicked the butt end of her cigarette to the floor and brought a sneaker down, twisting and crushing the burning embers of the tip, she wondered just how long to wait, the question answered immediately as a station wagon gently pulled to a halt outside Sarah Pirce's intimidatingly tall brownstone. The woman standing from the car looked completely ease. Not an ounce of panic to her composure as she stepped into the street and threw the driver's door closed, making her way to the trunk and lifting it open with ease, the stacks of groceries within almost bursting into the street as Sarah began to lift the brown paper bags and make her way up the steps and towards her front door. Enthusiasm almost getting the best of her, Tiffany took a step forward, eyes locked on the open front door, almost to the edge of the sidewalk as her attention became drawn suddenly to the Chicago P.D patrol car screeching to a halt behind the station wagon, the two officers inside killing the engine and proceeding to sit in silence as Sarah reappeared from the front door and offered them a wave as she descended the thick, stone steps of her house. Taking a step back, Tiffany pretended to pull back the cuff of her leather jacket and examine her watch, observing all the time as Sarah leaned in through the patrol car window and engaged in a small joke with the two officers before returning to her own vehicle and the groceries. An idea already in place, Tiffany now turned ninety degrees to her left and slowly started to stroll along the street, her car waiting up ahead as she took her time and approached nonchalantly. She'd figured something like this may happen. The police never failed when it came to their predictability. Unfortunately for them Tiffany had had the common sense to park near a payphone, one offering ample view down the length of South Blackstone Avenue, and knew exactly what to do next, reaching the door of the payphone and pulling it open. Stepping in and closing the door behind her, Tiffany grabbed the White Pages and flicked through, finding the address of a completely different Sarah Pirce and lifting the phone from its cradle. Then, dialing 911, she simply stood and waited as the line crackled into life.

"Operator, which emergency service do you require?" the voice asked, loaded with static.

"Police!" Tiffany spat, raising her voice slightly, infusing it with a hint of desperation and more than a sprinkling of terror.

The line fell silent, although only for a split second, another voice now answering as she addressed the caller clearly and calmly.

"Police." The voice started. "What appears to be your emergency?"

"It's the killer!" Tiffany screamed, the line crackling as she did so. "The fucking phone book killer! She's here! 789 Majesty Towers. Please, come quickly!"

Before the woman could answer Tiffany brought the phone crashing down, and turned to open the door, stepping from the payphone and into the cold chill of the street. Looking down towards Sarah Pirce's open station wagon, she could see the patrol car still parked up, not a care in the world as Tiffany now began to count in her head.

'10…

9…

8…

7…

6…

5…

4…"

Suddenly the patrol cars lights stuttered into life, the siren too as South Blackstone Avenue became swamped in a flashing sea of blue. Tyres screeching, rubber burning and a cloud of smoke billowing into the air the car practically turned on the spot and headed down the street, straightening up and careering through the traffic ahead, cars, bikes and SUVs parting as the patrol car snaked along the street and hung a left disappearing out of view.

"Quicker than I expected." Tiffany said as she observed the lone figure of Sarah Pirce looking completely stunned by the side of her car, groceries in hand as she simply gave a shake of her head and wandered up the steps and into the house, front door wide open, Tiffany grinning to herself as she realised just how easy this may be.

"Thanks boys."

The speed of it all took Sarah completely by surprise. No sooner had she asked her entourage if they required a drink, maybe something to eat or use the bathroom than they had disappeared, rubber burning into the tarmac as Sarah hopped halfway down the steps of her house and found the blue and white patrol cars wheels spinning, the lights almost blinding as the screech of the tyres echoed back from the apartment blocks across the street. No explanation, nothing as the car tore into the traffic and flicked on its siren, an ear piercing warning to all that lay ahead, whatever had happened obviously deemed enough of an emergency for her personal security guards to abandon their current post as Sarah now stood by her open trunk and simply gave a shrug of the shoulders, grabbing another bag of groceries and climbing the steep stone steps once more. The interior of the house welcomed her with open arms. The wide open hallway housing umbrellas, coats and all sizes of shoes, the small, antique looking wheelchair sitting beside the stairlift serving as a constant reminder just how lucky Sarah was. Despite all the bad luck. Now, as she walked with a bounce in her step, reaching the kitchen at the end of the hall, she placed the groceries on the kitchen table and approached the kitchen counter. Grabbing a tumbler and turning the cold tap of the sink, she placed the tumbler under the refreshing water and allowed the glass to fill. This was probably the first drink she'd had time for all day. What with two school runs, a grocery shop, then the dreaded phone call from Chicago Police Department, she hadn't stopped all day. She'd seen the news. Of course she had. Heard every radio broadcast, seen every news report and read every article, the newspaper landing on her mat every morning without fail. Nothing had been mentioned to the girls though. Why would it? All they would do is worry. No, as far as they were concerned everything was just as normal, and until the time came, then that would be how it remained. As for the news reports, Sarah couldn't put her finger on recent events. No matter how much the police had asked, no matter how much they had more or less insisted that she must know something, have some clue as to the motive behind these recent murders, the more she struggled to conjure an explanation herself. The only thing she could imagine, the only person that could be capable of these heinous acts had died years ago, and despite a media frenzy surrounding events Sarah found quite impossible, she had found herself reassured that those were nothing more than ghost stories. Fairy tales conjured up by an overactive imagination and a healthy dose of motherly enthusiasm. Lost in thought, mind wandering, Sarah suddenly jumped as the front door slammed closed, the wind outside most likely to blame, but the impact and the noise reverberating down the hall causing the glass to fall from Sarah's hand and shatter upon impact, the sink now housing the fragments of broken glass as Sarah turned and wandered towards the kitchen door. Looking down the length of the hall, Sarah could suddenly see that the front door had indeed been forced shut, the wind probably the correct culprit, but Sarah's mind still not settling as her heartbeat began to rise. Something wasn't quite right. Slowly beginning to make her way back along the hall, the sound of her heels on the beautifully laquered hardwood floor making more noise than acceptable, Sarah slipped her shoes from her feet and continued, the open doors to the parlour and dining room coming up on her left and right respectively. Lifting a hand in the darkness of the hallway, the light diminishing quickly as the sun set in the sky, Sarah then called out, praying and hoping for an answer.

"Barb?" She gently called, no reply forthcoming. "Nica?"

No answer as she passed the dining room door and glanced into the parlour, unable to react as the shadow briefly appeared from behind, a sudden flash of movement as Sarah felt the impact on the back of her head, falling to the floor instantly and landing in a crumpled heap. Head pounding, eyes heavy, Sarah could only look on helplessly as a haze engulfed her vision, her attacker stepping through the dining room door. Although unable to identify her assailant, the darkness taking hold, Sarah heard a voice. Distant, ever decreasing in volume as she finally succumbed and her eyes slowly closed.

"Miss Pirce." The voice said, deepening as Sarah began to slip into a deep sleep. "Pleased to finally meet you."

And with that, Sarah Pirce's world suddenly fell dark.


	27. Chapter 4-6

Chapter 4.6

November 19th 1996

This wasn't right.

The darkness, an ocean of infinite nothingness, swallowing her whole. Her consciousness clamouring at invisible walls as she tried to escape the engulfing void before her. Other senses beginning to awaken, one by one as she lay still, the constant drip of water gradually increasing in volume as Sarah began to stir. Awakening slowly, her head lay heavy, a tiny ripple of pain slowly spreading from the epicentre of her brain as she gradually opened her eyes. At first she felt a wave of relief. A shiver of gratitude as she found the feeling returning to her arms and legs, the pins and needles beginning tickle, yet at the same time bringing over a wave of nausea, Sarah now feeling the hard surface beneath her back as she smiled and tried to recount the moments leading up to her nap. Wherever she was, it wasn't bed. Her mattress was much softer than this, which led Sarah to think of an alternative, her mind still rousing from the recent slumber. Had she fallen asleep on the couch? No. She was pretty sure the couch was a lot more comfortable than this too, now beginning to feel a cold sensation spreading across her back, wet to the touch and soaking through her blouse without mercy. Confused, and starting to feel a sense of unease, Sarah opened her eyes and blinked, the environment surrounding her dark and strange. Where was she? This place, it seemed familiar, but she could not for the love of god begin to put a name to it. Beginning to move, attempting to turn over, Sarah struggled, trying again as her arms refused to move. Legs too as Sarah lifted her head as best she could. Panic setting in, unable to move and in unfamiliar surroundings, she struggled on, no use as her eyes slowly adjusted to the small amount of light filtering in from a window behind her current, horizontal position. High above the place where she lay as Sarah managed to make out the thin, yet tightly bound rope wrapped a multitude of times around her wrists and ankles. Her heart began to pound as she struggled frantically once more, grunting as she did so, fear rising before releasing a loud and ear splitting cry for help.

"HELP!"

She bellowed into the emptiness of the room, no answer forthcoming.

"SOMEBODY!?"

Nothing.

"Please..." She wept, the only reply coming from a rat, startled by the sudden outburst and scurrying across the wooden floor with a terrified screech of its own. The room was filthy, that much was clear. Run down and in desperate need of structural work, the corner of the room soaking as rain water poured in relentlessly, not so much a drop, but more of a constant flow as it attacked the now decaying plaster clinging valiantly to the wall, the brickwork beneath sitting exposed following what must have been years of neglect. The rest of the room was a mess too. Cobwebs and debris littered every square inch, what looked very much like masks, papier mache and rotten wood, Sarah now guessing the location to be derelict. Abandoned and forgotten, nature now allowed to take its toll. Mould growing in every corner, cardboard littering the floor, faeces of a wide variety of rodents too as weeds also began to poke in through the gaps in the bare brick wall and uneven floorboards, Sarah now correctly guessed herself to be in a basement of some description. She was just about to take another deep breath, unleash yet another bloodcurdling scream in the hope of alerting anybody and everybody she could, when she stopped dead, the sound of a door opening somewhere up ahead, indeed the influx of light burning brightly as it spread rapidly across the twisted, filthy floor and stretched on towards Sarah. Holding her breath in anticipation, Sarah watched on, speechless as a silhouette appeared stood in the door frame, the shadow streaking across the warped, wooden floor, sharp and intimidating. Then, stepping forward, the sound of footsteps echoing across the silence of the rotting room, a pair of heels tapped slowly along as the faint outline of a woman now came to a sudden standstill. Unable to make out anything other than the shape of the woman's figure, the glow of light from the door behind not illuminating her captor as much as Sarah would have liked, she lay in complete silence and tried to regain as much composure as possible, watching silently as the woman slowly lifted her hands and cupped them around her mouth, casually striking a match and lighting the cigarette clamped between her lips, illuminating her face as she did so with a satisfied smile. Extinguishing the match with a gentle flick of the wrist and exhaling the first lungful of smoke into the damp, stagnant air, the woman finally spoke. Not much, but enough to turn the blood running through Sarah's veins to ice as her voice calmly floated through the air and landed with a punch, knocking the wind from Sarah's lungs.

"Hello Sarah." She gently said, the smile twisting across her lips. "I'm Tiffany."

Racing through the streets, the sirens of the two patrol cars blared loudly. Pedestrians offering a quick glance before doing a double take, the huge, heavily armoured SWAT truck rumbling on behind as its escort cut a path through the afternoon traffic of Chicago. Up ahead cars, buses and bikes all parted to either side of the exceptionally wide street, allowing the convoy to make its way through, the surrounding buildings soaked in the intermittent flash of neon blue light, the sirens suddenly coming to a halt, the signal to the team within the understated white and blue SWAT truck that their destination lay not too far ahead. Beneath the plates of armour, safely hidden within the body of the truck and noticing the disappearing siren, the generous frame of Captain Reginald Senior turned and ran his eyes over the assembled team before him. Still gearing up, five either side of the vehicles hull, assault rifles, handguns, a multitude of counter terrorism devices lining the walls, they all turned and acknowledged their superior, the huge man before them now pointing to a white board pinned to the steel structure behind him, arrows and symbols dotted left, right and centre, Tiffany Valentine's mug shot tacked beside as he called to the men as one.

"Alright men, listen up." Senior barked running his hand over the board, the quickly scribbled floor plan of Gorman's Bar there for all to observe. "What we have here is a high risk warrant. You all got that? Now we all know the drill. I want this smooth, I want it clean, and if we can, I want to take this bitch alive!"

"What do we know sir?" A random voice called out from the ten man team, all eyes still trained on Senior, some poking from beneath the Kevlar helmets, others from behind the thick police issue goggles.

"Not a lot, it has to be said." Senior replied with a sigh, palms outstretched. "This has been very quickly thrown together. We have a window of opportunity and we need to act fast."

A sigh here. A shake of the head there.

"I know what you're all thinking, but what we do know is that our target is now officially a cop killer." Senior continued slamming his hand into Tiffany's photo. "Now mark my words, this should be nothing more than a simple in-and-out job. But, and I stress this, I don't want anybody acting the hero. We go in, incapacitate, and then extract. No unnecessary gunfire, and for that reason alone I'm on point. Everybody understand that?"

A nod of heads from all around the truck. Senior was the point man, meaning he would lead the team. First contact most likely to be made by him and him alone. From the calmness, a lone voice, Senior unable to place it, spoke up.

"Is that wise sir?" He asked.

"Listen up son." Senior snapped, craning his neck in the direction of the voice. "I was doing my SWAT drills while you were in kindergarten. Don't let the desk job fool you. It's like riding a bike."

A silence befell the men as Senior awaited a further response. None forthcoming, he decided to press on, turning to the white board and the floor plan of the bar.

"As we can see." He began, his thick index finger extended as he traced a path along the plans. "We have an exit out back leading into a small yard area. Fortunately for us, this bottlenecks at the alley leading to the street out back. We'll have a sniper positioned above the alley, ready for if our suspect attempts an escape. Out front however, it's a different story. We have the main entrance which exits straight into the parking lot, which in turn allows a swifter, more efficient exit into the street. For that reason, we'll have two snipers positioned across the road, both with a full view of the immediate area. Their orders are different to ours. They get chance, they shoot to kill."

"What about us sir?" A team member asked, raising his hand. "We've covered the exterior, but what about inside? Any surprises?"

"We won't know until we're in." Senior answered. "But I'm positive that if we take it steady, stick to the routine, then we'll be fine."

Turning to the board again, Senior pointed, a thick, weathered finger drumming on the front entrance.

"We go in as usual." He said, his voice lucid, almost dream like. "Eleven men, single file, snake formation. As we can see, we have steps leading up to a balcony housing rooms above the bar. Front five men, myself included, will cover the bar area while the six to the rear split off and head upstairs. We hold the bar while you check the rooms above. Once we get the all clear, then the five on the ground floor reform and we head down to the basement. If she isn't upstairs, then we face the very strong possibility that she's downstairs. Now as far as I'm aware, this motherfucker doesn't have the slightest clue we're onto her. She'll be unprepared. Which means she may panic. Maybe reach for a weapon. Unlike our sniper friends outside though, the orders are not to take her out unless absolutely necessary. I want that to be a last resort okay? But, if it has to be done, then so be it. Remember, our safety is paramount."

Giving his team a final look over, Senior brought his hands crashing together, the panels of his SWAT armour shaking visibly as he did so.

"Do we have any questions?"

Yet again, a silence lingered in the air. Not disrespectful, but calm and concentrated. The mission ahead was, as previously mentioned, a fairly simple one. But nevertheless, the men cleared their heads and entered the zone, each one focusing on their role within the team and what may lay ahead.

"Then in that case gentlemen." Senior barked with a smile. "Let's suit up."

It had been too long. He was looking forward to this.

Whether she knew it or not, Tiffany Valentine was going down.

Slowly and silently, the SWAT truck rolled across the intersection and proceeded to make its way down the street, two uniformed officers hurriedly racing across the street and erecting a barrier in its wake as they cordoned off the route and returned to their duties, manning the barricade. The patrol cars ahead had already pulled up by the sidewalk, the truck rumbling past and emerging from the shadows of the run down apartments flanking the parking lot of Gorman's Bar. Once across the entrance to the parking lot, the truck rolled to a stop, out of sight as it passed beyond the corner of the next building, also running the length of the lot, the engine dying instantly as quietly and efficiently the double doors to the rear of the truck sprang open and the team began to pile out one by one. Sub-machine guns raised, armour clinging to every limb. First in line, Captain Senior reached the corner of the building and lifted a lone palm, not a word spoken as the following men acknowledged the back of his hand and filed up along the dirty, red brick wall behind him. Slowly turning the corner, gun sweeping from right to left, Senior entered the barren parking lot and began to make his way across the gravel, the team falling in behind him, snipers positioned high above monitoring their every step, all good as they reached the entrance to the bar and split into two teams, the ten men following on behind now evenly distributed either side of the battered, open doorway, the raid from days previous still evident. Silently, the men held their positions, Senior signaling as one of the team stepped forward and retrieved a mirror from his pocket, hanging from the end of an extendable arm, dropping to their knees and allowing it to hover around the corner of the door. An old and tested trick, the mirror slowly angled back and forth as the SWAT member used it to his advantage, checking out the interior of the building and finding no evidence of life. Retrieving the mirror and folding it back into one of his many pockets, the SWAT member gave a swift thumbs up and fell back, Senior taking the lead again as he counted down with the fingers of his spare hand. Reaching 'one', Senior darted round the corner, each of the team following in and creating a snake behind their superior. A single file line, just as described in the briefing, as they quietly entered the bar and once again trained their sub-machine guns upon all four corners and the gantry above the bar. Quickly making their way through the bar area and approaching the stairs, the front five men stopped and dropped to their knees once more, guns still raised as they surveyed the floor area for any sign of danger, the six men to the rear splitting from the line and beginning to make their way up the stairs. Reaching the gantry, the six men quickly and quietly began to make their way along the row of doors, slowly twisting the handles and allowing the doors to open, another SWAT member then proceeding to enter with caution, dropping to their knees again and sweeping their firearm from corner to corner. Five minutes later and the silent signal came from above, a thumbs up indicating the first floor to be clear, the five man team on the ground floor now standing as one, guns still sweeping the bar, ever vigilant as they made their way to the staircase, the basement next to be inspected as they waited for Captain Senior to quietly round the banister and began his descent. The four men now realigning and snaking behind him, they silently proceeded to follow on, descending into the darkness. Reaching the bottom of the staircase, Senior quietly lifted his left hand, sub-machine gun trained on the lone door before him, extending a finger and indicating twice left, twice right, the four men behind suddenly splitting two to either side of the Captain and approaching the closed door before them. Dropping to their knees again, one of the men gingerly reached forward and gripped the handle of the door, awaiting the signal from Senior who lowered his weapon slightly and gave a slight nod, signal received. Slowly levering downwards, the SWAT member suddenly felt the handle ripped from his grasp, Senior instantly lifting his weapon as the door flew open and a lone figure appeared at the far end of the basement. Reacting quickly, Senior squeezed the trigger of his gun and felt time slow as his finger reached the point of no return. All noise disappeared, senses became heightened, Senior suddenly realising the trap that had been sprung as the corpse of Selena Thomas dropped from the beams of the basement ceiling, the smell of gas coming too late as the muzzle of Senior's sub-machine gun erupted with fire, the bullet ejected, the spark wasting no time at all as Senior closed his eyes and felt the air ripped violently from his lungs. The explosion sent a shockwave rippling across the neighbourhood. A pulse almost enough to shake the entire block. The snipers stationed around the building lifted their heads as they examined the perimeter, turning from the heat, the windows across all three stories of Gorman's Bar suddenly exploding and showering the immediate area in shards of glass as the flames erupted from within, devouring all the oxygen in their way before retreating, sucked back into the red brick building as if by magic. Unable to withstand the impact of the blast, the walls began to buckle. Decades old mortar crumbling as the weight of the roof simply became too much to bear, the building now folding in on itself in a cloud of dust, screams from within as the officers on the street stood and watched on in shock and abject horror.

God help all inside.

Rain slamming into the windscreen, Officer Harold Wan cruised the streets of Chicago. The day far from over as he listened to the constant squeal of the police band, the static exploding through the patrol car every few seconds. The way this week had spiraled out of control was nothing short of remarkable. A grip of terror tightening as the police unexpectedly came up against a seemingly unstoppable force. Four innocent women now lay dead. Bodies on a slab in their respective morgues. Two officers had since joined them. Gloria Esposito and Patrick McCain brutally slain in the line of duty. Two of Harold's closest friends in fact. Truth be told, the shock had yet to sink in, Harold rejecting offers to take some time off and choosing to instead throw himself even further into his work and carry on regardless. Not for the acclaim, not because it was his duty but because he owed it to them. He was close, and he could feel it. Now, as he drifted through the traffic, wipers working frantically, scraping across the windshield as they fought to clear away the downpour, Wan found the radio blaring into life, the screaming almost inaudible as his eyes flitted from the road to the controls, turning the volume down and listening in to the conversation now taking place. He could tell this was an emergency, but what exactly had taken place was still to be discovered.

"Control!" The voice gasped, panicked and desperate. "Come in control, this is car seventy-six!"

"Control here seventy-six." The response followed instantly. Calmly. "What's your situation?"

"We need medics!" The officer coughed, his breath short, the noise in the background slowly beginning to dwindle. "Medics, fire crew... Jesus we need everything!"

"Please advise of status seventy-six." Control answered, a voice of calm among what was rapidly becoming a sea of despair.

"The building." The officer paused and coughed again, his voice trembling. "The whole fucking building came down. Right on top of them. Gorman's Bar. South Dearborn and West Jackson. Send whatever you can spare."

"Re-routing all emergency personnel within the area to your location car seventy-six." Control replied, the female voice not faltering one bit as she responded as best she could. "Please advise, how many casualties on site?"

"Not a damn clue." The officer said, recounting as best he could. "Eleven of our guys went in I think. Then that was it. Fire, then bang, the whole fucking building. Gone just like that. Nobody came out."

"Standby for support seventy-six." Control said. "ETA two minutes."

"Maybe get the gas board down here control." The officer said, his chest wheezing, his voice croaky.

"Already done seventy-six." Control replied one final time. "Sit tight."

With that final transmission, the radio returned to the normal, monotonous and incredibly mundane reports of failed bank robberies, muggings and burglaries as Officer Wan allowed the past sixty seconds to sink in and make sense. Approaching the intersection ahead, he looked on through the rain and watched the lights switch from green to red, mind working overtime. Gorman's Bar. Last known abode of one Tiffany Hendricks. Or as Wan now knew her to be called, Tiffany Valentine. Whatever Captain Senior had done, it would appear it had backfired spectacularly, the scene described over the radio one of tragedy and suffering. Dazed and shaken by the events now playing out at Gorman's Bar, Wan began to apply the brakes of the patrol car, the wheels steadily decreasing, water kicked from the surface of the road as the car eventually came to a stop in a puddle stretching from one side of the intersection to the other. He had barely started to try and piece together the incident across town, Captain Senior possibly laying dead beneath tonnes of debris, when another call came in from across town. A completely different part of the city as the call squealed through the car.

"Control, this is car thirty-one." A voice sighed across the airwaves.

"Control here." A different voice this time. "Go ahead thirty-one."

"Roger Control. We're just returning to South Blackstone after that hoax Pirce call." The officer said. "But it looks as though our Sarah Pirce has gone walkabout."

Wan's spine stiffened as he listened in.

Surely not.

"Please repeat car thirty-one." Control asked.

"She's gone." The officer replied, seemingly confused. "Nowhere to be seen. Sarah Pirce has disappeared."

Sitting in stunned silence, the lights before him now changing from red to green, Harold Wan simply sat in a daze as the car behind gave a blast of its horn. A request to move on and quit holding up the building queue of traffic. It was this exact moment, as Harold hypnotically slipped the car into gear, that the pieces magically seemed to suddenly fit together. The jigsaw amazingly piecing itself together as Harold flicked on his siren and watched the miserable afternoon rain suddenly light up in a magnificent blue, tyres screeching as he jammed the throttle of the patrol car to the floor and felt the wheels spin on the drenched tarmac beneath, the gas pumped to the engine as the beast roared within. Sarah Pirce, 'the' Sarah Pirce, was now missing.

And he had a damn good idea where to find her.

Eyes straining against the light, pupils dilating instantly, Sarah found herself lost for words. Her long blonde hair now soaking as the rain picked up outside. The beams in the basement ceiling now allowing a fast, constant drip as the rainwater forced it's way through the gaps and cracks and into the rotting timbers overhead, the strange woman before her now taking a step forward and lifting a clump of Sarah's sodden hair, the lockes matted together as she then quietly released them and turned away, striding a few steps before turning and finally speaking again.

"I thought you'd be more attractive." She sighed as she approached a decrepit old stool, wiping it clean with her spare hand, the sleeve of her leather jacket pulled over the open palm as dirt and moss fell from the leather covering of the seat. Cigarette gripped between her fingers, the woman then sat ever so slowly, eyes never leaving Sarah as she lifted the cigarette and drew another lungful of smoke, the tip a furious bright red as the paper burned slowly towards the filter. Sarah was still getting her bearings, about to question that last statement, when Tiffany spoke again.

"Familiar?" She asked, eyes sweeping across the basement in a questioning fashion as she exhaled yet another plume of smoke. Sarah, lost for words, could do little more than offer a quick shake of her head, not entirely honest as she found some familiarity within the aging basement. She had been here before. But when? More importantly, why?

"They burned it down years ago you know."

"They?" Sarah quietly asked, not too sure whether she was shivering from the cold, or trembling with fear.

"You know what I mean." Tiffany replied with a smile. "Some sort of revenge by the locals. Either that or an insurance job by the landlord. After all, there doesn't seem to be much demand for property owned by deceased, infamous serial killers these days."

A freezing sensation swept over Sarah's still body as the words hit home, her mind almost exploding as she put two and two together. Feeling her heart pound in her chest she cast her eyes around the room once again. The fireplace, the half eaten, rotting masks, the couch she now found herself secured to. She knew where she was alright, instantly beginning to struggle against the ropes around her wrists and ankles, the fear bringing tears to her eyes as she cast her mind back eight long years and to that fateful night. Even now, she could still see him. As he was. Flowers clutched in hand as he seemed to fret over whether or not he'd picked the right ones, the calm, caring demeanour giving way to the wicked, unpredictable and violent psychopath buried within just moments later as the police showed up and Sarah's life changed forever. Yes. She could see him. His shoulder length mop of unruly dark hair. The thick, brown overcoat. His voice laced with a malevolence. Yes, it had been a long time. Time spent trying to forget. But she could still see, smell and hear Charles Lee Ray in all his twisted glory.

"No…" She whispered through the tears, her face contorted in fear and desperation as she turned her attention on Tiffany. "No! Why? Who are you?!"

Suddenly the stool shot out from beneath Tiffany, across the basement floor and into the shadows as she stood and lifted her arm, the gun gripped tightly and aimed in Sarah's immediate direction, a venomous tone to her words as she bellowed across the room in fury.

"WHO AM I?" Tiffany screamed, infuriated. "I should be the one asking that question you fucking slut! After all, I'm not the 'other woman' now am I?"

"What?" Sarah asked, astounded at the very words, disbelief flowing through her words.

"Did it make you feel good?" Tiffany spat, gun still aimed, finger gently wrapped around the trigger as she proceeded to approach the helpless woman before her. "The attention I mean. Was it good? Did it make you feel wanted? Trying to steal another girls man."

Taking a deep breath and composing herself, Sarah blinked back the tears and tried to block out the cold, the terror not relenting for one second as she tried her best to calm the typhoon of frustration now standing before her.

"If you're talking about Charles Lee Ray, then let me assure you that is NOT what happened!"

"Yeah right." Tiffany laughed, lowering the gun slightly as she stepped back a touch, Sarah grabbing the chance and attempting to explain herself in more depth.

"Believe me." Sarah said. "If those feelings of his were in any way mutual, do you really think he'd have resorted to what he did? Kidnap? Bringing me here and tying me up like he did? Like you have? Please think about it."

Quick as a flash the gun found itself pointed in Sarah's direction once again, Tiffany snarling as a tear fell from her cheek and dropped to the floor, forever lost among the puddles now forming at her feet.

"So you're saying it was all him?" She asked angrily, teeth gritted as she spat the words out. "It was all Chucky's doing?"

Battling back the tears herself, Sarah remained silent, affording only a nod in reply to Tiffany's question.

"Bullshit!" Tiffany grunted, lifting the gun to her left and pointing to the side of the basement, unleashing a bullet into the plaster as a puff of dust flew into the air, the explosion reverberating around the old, decaying room. Before Sarah could scream, before she could think, the gun was back on her, Tiffany approaching at pace and quickly coming to a stop beside the couch, the barrel of the handgun no more than a few inches from her forehead as Tiffany carried on.

"You must have led him on!" She said, tears in her eyes, voice breaking, clinging to the belief. "You must have done something!"

"No." Sarah wept, shaking her head violently. "The opposite in fact. I assure you."

Stepping back and lowering the gun, Tiffany appeared to calm a little as she tried to catch her breath, the rain falling all around her as a clap of thunder roared overhead and a flash of lightning lit up the room, shadows thrown up and gracing the walls in every conceivable direction.

"How do you mean?" She asked.

"Believe me, I went to great lengths to avoid him." Sarah continued, a nervous ripple of laughter escaping as she pushed on through the tears. "Ever since the first time we met. I knew there was something about him, but I couldn't put my finger on it. After that day, the picnic where we met, he became obsessive. Ever present. Everywhere I went he was there. Every social function. Every time I went to the store. My husband, Daniel, thought it was all in my head too. Little did he know how determined Charles was."

"Don't call him Charles." Tiffany whispered, listening intently as she lifted the gun and wiped another tear from her cheek, the metal warm on her skin. "He wouldn't like that."

"My husband died, you see." Sarah sniffed, fighting back the tears, taking a calming breath as she fought on to tell her story. "They ruled it as an accident. But I knew. He was such a strong swimmer. But they found him in the lake, two days after he went missing. Then I heard the last person to see him alive was Charles, and that's when I knew."

"That's news to me." Tiffany interjected, wiping another tear from her cheek, the back of the sleeve of her leather jacket now being used to some effect.

"I cut off all contact after that." Sarah pushed on. "I even went to the police. Told them how I thought he had something to do with Daniel's death. How he was harassing me. In the end he was given a restraining order and I thought that would be the end of it."

"Do go on." Tiffany gestured halfheartedly, waving the gun.

"I think that's what caused him to snap. A week later I dropped Barb, my eldest girl, at school and that's when he grabbed me. He kept me here for three days and three nights. Heavily pregnant at the time too. I tried to tell him how wrong it was, but he wouldn't listen. Just said that 'they' wouldn't keep us apart, but I begged him, told him he was wrong. Eventually I managed to get free and phone the police."

"Why?" Tiffany interrupted. "If you got free then why not just make a run for it?"

"I had no idea where I was." Sarah snapped at her, instantly regretting it and continuing in a more pleasant manner. "The phone was in the apartment upstairs. When I went up there, the things I saw… I was scared. Not about what he would do to me, but Barb too. Because he would have found me. Straight away."

"So if you had no idea where you were, then how did the police show up?" Tiffany asked, a certain irritation to her question, as though trying to expose a flaw or lie.

"They traced the call." Sarah answered. "When they came I didn't know what to expect. He was insisting on picking Barb up from school. I delayed him, that was when they arrived. He either saw the lights or heard the siren, then went to the window and flew into a rage. He took a knife..."

The memories taking their toll, Sarah's emotions racing, she struggled to carry on, sobbing as she took a second. She needed more, trying her hardest and suddenly finding the words exploding from somewhere deep inside. A well of strength and courage she had no idea existed.

"...and he stabbed me! Eight months pregnant and that son of a bitch didn't so much as take a second glance as he tried to kill my baby."

Curiosity getting the better of her, Tiffany gingerly stepped forward and lowered her arm, placing the barrel of her gun beneath the bottom of Sarah's wet blouse and lifting the flimsy, saturated material ever so slowly to reveal the scar beneath. Inch by inch, Tiffany looking on In a twisted fascination as she realised Sarah's honesty.

"Well what do you know?" Tiffany said, lowering the blouse and looking Sarah in the eye. "Seems you're telling the truth."

"Of course I'm telling you the truth!" Sarah replied, her tone rife with anger. "I went through hell because of that bastard."

"Well that sounds like my Chucky." Tiffany sighed, the words rolling from her tongue. "Always one to let his heart rule his head."

"Do you have no compassion?" Sarah asked, stunned. "No humanity?"

"My heart bleeds." Tiffany replied as she stood and rolled her eyes, the story beginning to bore her as she noticed the daggers emanating from Sarah's eyes. "Seriously."

"My baby was born practically healthy." Sarah said, her voice tailing off as she became quieter by the word.

"Practically?" Tiffany asked. "What the hell does that mean?"

"Because of your dear 'Chucky', my baby girl was born a paraplegic." Sarah spat through gritted teeth. "Happy with that?"

Silence from the Valentine corner, quickly broken as Tiffany cleared her throat and sought to continue the interrogation.

"So what happened next?" She asked.

"It was all a blur to be honest." Sarah said, tilting her head to the side and staring into space, focusing on the crumbling brickwork of the basement. "Next thing I remember seeing were the news reports the following day. That Charles had been killed during a police chase. That he was actually the Lakeshore Strangler too. I thought that would be the end of it, but then days later I saw some other reports and found out about the little boy across town. Claiming that his doll was possessed by the spirit of Charles Lee Ray no less."

"You believed it?" Tiffany asked, shocked.

"I wouldn't normally." Sarah answered, her eyes dropping to the half rotten masks and carvings on the basement floor, mind flashing with memories. "I will admit I was pretty skeptical. But I remembered what I'd seen in the apartment upstairs. I'd seen the things he was into."

"So what next?" Tiffany asked her.

"There was something about it that wouldn't let up." Sarah continued. "Naturally they were laughed out of court. The boy was put into care and the mother sent to the crazy house I think. The doll was given back to the toy company. Although I seem to remember something about that too. A police officer took some of the evidence from the case and wound up dead that same day."

"That rings a bell." Tiffany sighed, her time to reminisce as her memory flashed back to Chicago Police officer Harry Marsh and the exchange that never was.

"But before all the legal cases, straight after the claims were made I made a decision. To put my mind at ease, reassure myself, I decided to look into the whole thing." Sarah continued. "Like I said, I was skeptical, but after everything I'd seen, down here, upstairs, then everything I'd heard, I just couldn't put it out of my mind. That was why I looked for help straight after that boy made those claims."

"Hang on." Tiffany began laughing, the gun now dangling from her finger as she sat back down on the stool. "Let me guess. You hired a private investigator?"

A nod from Sarah as she continued.

"The investigation concluded the whole thing was nothing more than a fairytale." Sarah explained. "Make believe and a child's over-active imagination. Probably a way to block out the domestic issues. It was almost all wrapped up, but then it happened again. That same boy, claiming to have killed the doll for a second time and left it to rot in some factory across town. So we kept digging, and digging... Eventually my investigator concluded it was all bullshit and we went our separate ways."

"You're wrong." Tiffany shook her head and remembered the conversation that took place in the office of Mrs Appleby's store some years previous, an answer to the burning question at last. "Jack Fuller discovered way more than he let on."

"You know Jack Fuller?" Sarah gasped in disbelief.

"Let's just say our paths crossed, ever so briefly, a couple of years back." Tiffany answered. "In fact come to mention it, I'd been convinced he was hired by Karen Barclay all this time. See, she denied it when I asked, but I still thought…"

"I'm sorry, who?" Sarah asked, confused.

"The mother of the child." Tiffany tried to explain. "You know… With the doll? Keep up Sarah."

"Oh."

"Yeah." Tiffany sighed. "So it looks like good old Jack wasn't as straight with you as he claimed."

"In what way?" Sarah asked.

"Well he admitted to me how he blatantly lied to you." Tiffany said, standing from her stool and slowly striding across the uneven floor towards Sarah. "How he'd become somewhat obsessed with this whole thing himself. Especially after what he discovered in the factory."

Remaining speechless, Sarah narrowed her eyes and furrowed her brow, inviting Tiffany to continue, to which she obliged, Sarah's mind exploding in fear as the words menacingly fell from her captor's lips.

"You see, let me assure you Sarah, this whole thing is very fucking real." Tiffany giggled mischievously. The pleasure more than evident. "So real it almost frightens me."

"In what way?" Sarah asked, a little disturbed as Tiffany dropped to her knees beside the couch, smiling a malevolent grin as she gently ran her fingers through Sarah's damp hair.

"I've seen it." Tiffany whispered in her ear, Sarah's heartbeat stopping dead.

"Seen what?" Sarah asked, afraid of the reply.

"The corpse. In the factory." Tiffany answered. "The doll."

"I don't believe you." Sarah gasped in disbelief. "Jack said it was impossible…"

"Jack said, ya-da-ya-da-ya-da." Tiffany laughed. "It's easy enough to get in. If you do your research. Of course, I've not the first idea how exactly I'd be able to 'bring him back' so to speak. But I'm sure I'll get there in the end."

"No." Sarah asked, terror causing her spine to stiffen.

"Oh yes." Tiffany giggled. "But that's not important right now. What is important, is that I finally have chance to put this right. Do this one thing."

Before Sarah could say a word the gun was lifted from beneath the couch and pressed into Sarah's temple. The cold steel of the gun sent a ripple of fear washing over Sarah's body as she closed her eyes and began to weep, Tiffany's finger slowly pulling back on the trigger of the gun..

"Please." She sobbed, emotions racing. "I'm sorry. Alright?"

"What did her ever see in you?" Tiffany asked, disgusted too polite a word. "So weak and afraid. You're nothing."

"I said I'm sorry." Sarah said again, arcing her back and crying in frustration.

"Not good enough." Tiffany replied, her voice lacking any emotion whatsoever as she continued to tighten her grip on the trigger.

"Please, no." Sarah carried on. "I just wanted to be safe. To keep my children safe. My babies. I never thought he would die!"

Suddenly, the cold feeling disappeared from Sarah's head, her eyes opening and finding Tiffany had now stood and retracted the gun.

"Do you know something?" Tiffany said. "I never thought of it like that."

"Like what?" Sarah said between short, rapid breaths.

"I mean, I lost my Chucky. My man. My soulmate." Tiffany began to reason. "But Chucky lost so much more than that. He lost his life. His future. He lost everything because of you."

"I'm so sorry." Sarah pleaded.

"Don't you understand?" Tiffany laughed. "If I know Chucky, and believe me I know my Chucky, then the very first thing he'll want to do when he returns, is deal with you himself."

"What?" Sarah asked, astounded.

"When I bring him back. Because believe you me Sarah I am not the type to give up too easily, he will probably want to deal with you and those fucking kids of yours all on his own."

"Are you serious?" Sarah asked, half terrified, half stunned with disbelief.

"Maybe I am." Tiffany replied with a smile. "I mean this started off as a bit of a jealousy thing for me. You know? But I think it would be even more of a curse for you to deal with if you spent every day for the rest of your life looking over your shoulder. Don't you think?"

"But what about those innocent girls?" Sarah asked.

"What girls?" Tiffany said.

"The ones you've killed getting to me." Sarah seemed shocked, shaking her head as she spoke. "Did they die for nothing? Are you honestly telling me this was all over some jealous fit? Your anger. Your ill informed ideas about me stealing Charles?"

"Well," Tiffany started. "Believe it or not, it did start out that way. But It's like my mother used to say. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. Although that's probably not the case here. Because Chucky gets pretty angry. Which is why I really think I'm better leaving this for him to take care of. When I bring him back. Which I will. Eventually."

"You're crazy!" Sarah spat, unable to comprehend the seriousness of Tiffany's thinly veiled threat.

"Maybe. Maybe not. But I know one thing. You'll be living on the edge from here on out." Tiffany's voice twisted, the calm, easygoing tone disappearing as she fixed Sarah a deathly stare and leaned in, the two women inches from one another. "Because you'll never be safe. Wherever you go, even if you leave Chicago. And you'll always have one eye over your shoulder, you and your kids. And when the time comes, I'll be there to help him."

"Why?" Sarah asked through her tears.

"Because, like you already pointed out." Tiffany's lips curled into a menacing snarl. "This is all your fault. If it weren't for you he wouldn't have been chased, he wouldn't have been shot, he wouldn't be dead and he wouldn't be some half dead plastic freak that I've had to carry on without."

"I didn't mean for it…" Sarah began, Tiffany pressing the barrel of the gun into the side of Sarah's head once again as she leaned in and interrupted.

"I don't five a fuck what you meant. In fact, maybe I should take the opportunity now, while I've got it, and blow your head off? You'd be happier with that?"

Finger slowly pulling back on the trigger of the gun, Tiffany's lips warped into a sadistic grin as Sarah began to sob uncontrollably, unable to speak, unable to plead, unable to do anything as the trigger neared the point of no return, Tiffany suddenly releasing it as a flash of blue light appeared from the alleyway outside.

"What the fuck?" Tiffany stood and retracted the gun, forgetting Sarah for the time being and approaching the window of the basement, high up in the wall as she stepped up onto and old crate and peered into the rain outside. Sure enough, the intermittent flicker of blue light flashed along the alley walls once again, the driver's door of the patrol car opening as the young, oriental police officer stepped from within and took a quick look around.

"Shit!" Tiffany hissed through gritted teeth, unable to believe her luck as she spun a half circle and headed back across the crumbling basement floor. Striding straight past Sarah, secured to the couch and still weeping in blind desperation and fear, Tiffany grabbed her bag from the side of the stool and slung the strap over the shoulder of her leather jacket, returning to Sarah and dropping to her knees as she left her with one final, chilling message.

"We'll see you!" She hissed quietly, Sarah's tears slowing as she listened, Tiffany continuing. "Not now, not next year, or the year after that, but we'll see you. Believe me Sarah. You'll pay for what you did!"

Before Sarah could speak, acknowledge her in anyway at all, Tiffany stood, spinning and heading to the door as quickly as she could, heels tapping along the uneven floorboards as another door way over in a corner behind Sarah flew open and a torch light illuminated the room around her.

Was she safe?

"Police!" Officer Wan shouted into the damp, decaying darkness of the basement. For all he knew, this was a wild goose chase, the property of the late Charles Lee Ray still laying abandoned and dormant after all these years. But with Sarah Pirce missing, and nothing else to go on, Officer Wan saw little alternative than to throw all his eggs in one basket and at least give the property a search, a feeling of inflated relief washing over him as a voice replied somewhere up ahead.

"Help!" The voice pleaded, sobbing relentlessly as Officer Wan slowly stepped across the rotting floor and in the direction of the voice, a rat scurrying past with a squeak as the voice once again called for help up ahead. "Please."

"Where are you?" Wan asked, shining his flashlight in every direction, suddenly turning a corner and rounding an old wardrobe to find the woman that lay strapped to the couch, rope tightly strapped around the wrists and ankles. "Jesus."

"Thank god." Sarah breathed a tear filled sigh of relief. "I knew you'd come. You did before, and I knew you would again."

"Sarah Pirce I presume?" WAN asked, lowering his flashlight and dropping beside the nodding woman, immediately beginning to loosen her restraints. "Looks like I hot here just in time. Where is she? Where's Valentine?"

"She's gone… Just." Sarah wept, unable to hold back her emotions as she suddenly felt the ropes loosen, grabbing Wan's wrist as he stood to give chase. Freezing on the spot, Wan turned back to Sarah, awaiting an explanation as Sarah took a deep breath and spoke. "Don't leave me. Let her go."

"I can catch her." Wan insisted, reassuring Sarah, desperate for the collar. "I can end this now. It'll be over."

"No." Sarah shook her head and took a deep breath. "It'll never be over."

With a bewildered confusion, Wan looked on, lost for words as Sarah spoke one final time."

"Never."

And with that, Officer Wan dropped to his knees and remained by her side, moving only to radio in his discovery and alert the rest of Chicago Police Department.

Tiffany Valentine was on the move, but Sarah Pirce was finally safe.

The nightmare was over.

For now.

The hours had passed by without incident now. The Plymouth parked on the outskirts of the industrial estate as, under cover of night, Tiffany sneaked along the chain link fence and remained vigilant. The last time she had been here the security had been a lot less forgiving. Search lights had swept across the perimeter. Constant patrols too as the security teams worked in pairs. Every noise investigated as the hulking grey building situated beyond the heavily fortified fence sat in the darkness, the only light coming from the spotlights strategically placed and illuminating the surrounding area. Now, it had become very different. The security effort was lapse, a skeleton crew Tiffany noticed as the patrols seemed to have become less consistent, the pair of mercenaries now reduced to a solitary security officer as Tiffany remained in the shadows and waited patiently for her moment. Like a coiled spring, ready to take the opportunity, darting across the empty land and towards the chain link fence as she found the coast to be clear. Maintenance seemed to have taken a backseat too, she noticed. The fence still in need of repair as Tiffany dug her fingers beneath the bottom corner of the flimsy mesh and peeled the panel of fencing back from the ground, squeezing beneath and bolting across the empty, litter strewn parking lot, the huge, grey and rather unwelcoming building before her sitting in abject darkness. Silent as she approached, the only remnants of colour coming from a sign, now battered and weathered, sitting high above her head as the faded, freckly face of a Good Guy doll greeted her with what must have, at some point, been a welcoming smile. The current situation only serving to amplify the creepiness of the once jolly grin as the words of the sign still sat visible beneath.

'PLAY PALS'

Reaching the building and throwing herself against the wall, Tiffany allowed the shadows to swallow her whole, this particular corner of the buildings exterior completely devoid of any light whatsoever. If she remembered right, the entrance lay just up ahead, the lock on the door beyond repair and allowing easy access as Tiffany started to move, feeling her path along the corrugated metal wall of the factory and smiling as she gripped the door handle and twisted, the door opening with very little effort. Once inside, she closed her eyes and inhaled slowly, the sickly smell igniting what seemed like a thousand memories as she let the cold, stagnant air envelope her, caressing her skin. The rows of conveyors sat still and decrepit. Years of neglect causing the various metal parts to rust and seize, the generous coating of cobwebs indicating the length of time to have passed since the much publicised incidents of 1990. The final, epic showdown between Chucky and Andy Barclay taking place in this very building. Each and every direction she looked wielded the same sight. Cobwebs, rust, dust, various legs, arms and heads once created with such precision, such love, yet still sitting here, never to fulfill their purpose as they sat unaffected. It was like looking through a window and back in time. To a civilisation lost, only to be discovered at a later date, letting the effects of time ravage without any resistance whatsoever. Lifting her head and looking beyond the conveyors and machinery dotted around the shop floor, Tiffany could see the tower rising high above the numerous other machinery, the vat of molten plastic sitting within now hardened and unfit for use as she turned and began to calmly stride. Moving slowly across the concrete floor of the factory, her heels clicked loudly in the silence, the echo rebounding back from the walls and across the empty void of the factory floor as she neared her target. Heart skipping, her stomach fluttered as she rounded the corner, placing her hand on the last of the conveyors as she did so, breathing a sigh of relief and picking up the pace as she raced towards the abomination sitting before her, a streak of blood stretching from the cooling tower and towards the legless body sitting upon the rollers beneath. The plastic covering the tiny body had hardened years ago, the chest of the light blue dungarees still visible and strangely unscathed as the 'Good Guys' logo sat proudly unaffected, the devastation evident to all as, out of the bloody, headless mess an arm forced its way skyward. The blood, generously covering the small body buried beneath the plastic, had turned brown over time, congealing and staining through the years as time took no prisoners. Matted in the bloody, plastic mess, little tufts of ginger hair sat exposed, a gentle breeze floating through the factory and causing them to flutter ever so slightly as the small corpse sat frozen to the spot. Reaching the final resting place of the doll, Tiffany dropped to her knees and reached out, holding the small hand and beginning to whisper ever so gently. She had never spoken with such tenderness. Such care. Such an undiluted feeling of overwhelming love.

"I'm back." She said, choking back the tears, spotlights sweeping the perimeter of the building and shining through the windows high up in the walls, the small amount of light illuminating the interior substantially.

"I'm sorry I haven't been in a while." She continued unaffected. "But you know me honey. Always something."

Stroking the extended fingers of the outstretched doll's hand Tiffany fought back the tears, eyes welling up as she composed herself, for probably the last time. Unsure whether he could hear her, or whether this was all becoming a rather futile effort.

"I did manage to take care of things I mentioned last time I came." She continued, referring to her earlier altercation, the end of her witch-hunt now nothing but a memory. Sarah Pirce located and dealt with how Tiffany saw fit. "I couldn't do it. But she knows. She knows we're coming. Just as soon as you're back on your feet."

Sighing deeply, a tear dropped from Tiffany's eye and landed upon the sleeve of her jacket, her reaction only to lift that very arm and wipe away the following floods as she felt her lip begin to tremble with emotion.

"I know you'll look forward to it Chucky. She deserves to pay for what she did to us. To you." She said, standing and relinquishing her grip on the small hand. "I don't know if you can hear this or not, but I guess it's more to make me feel less guilty or something. But I have to leave town. There's gonna be a lot of police interest, and I need to make a break for it. But I'll never stop trying though. Believe me, I'll find a way. Even if I have to go to the end of the earth and back."

Taking a step, swearing to herself that she wouldn't, Tiffany stopped and cast one final glance over her shoulder, the last she would see of what was left of her former partner in crime, the small, mangled mountain of blood, plastic and hair remaining ever still, statuesque, as Tiffany faced forward and finally stepped back between the conveyors and towards the exit.

Unbeknown to her, sat high up above the factory floor and resting atop the controls of one of the many conveyors, a lone eye, a brilliant bright blue, blinking and surrounded by shredded, bloody, molten plastic, watched on in frustrated silence as she stepped carefully back across the factory floor and reached the exit to the parking lot. Then, as the door fell closed with a quiet click, a tear began to well in the eye as a twisted, furious rage burned somewhere deep within.

'Until next time.' Thought the eye, helpless as an eerie silence fell upon the neglected factory once more.

It hadn't taken long. No sooner had Tiffany reached her car and switched on the ignition she heard the news reports. Scrambled across every station, each one jostling to break the news first, the word was out. Sarah Pirce had been found, safe and sound, hurried into protection as she now feverishly helped the police with their inquiries, the biggest news being that of a name. They finally had a name. The Phone Book Killer unmasked as the name Tiffany Valentine, along with various images, were released to the media. The police quick to place an all points bulletin and issue a warrant for her arrest, urging members of the public not to confront, but simply report any sightings, the suspect apparently capable of anything, as witnessed over the course of the last week or so. Four innocent women and two brave police officers dead, a random killing taking place at a hotel in the city centre, not to mention eleven SWAT members buried beneath the rubble of a building downtown, the rescue attempt in full flow although nobody holding their breath. Now however, with the moon high in the sky, rain lashing at the windshield, the engine of the Plymouth Fury growled, roared and kicked as Tiffany pressed the throttle to the floor and watched the tarmac disappear quickly beneath the vehicle, the headlights illuminating every crack as the car seemed to literally swallow the road, the radio playing loudly as the wipers worked furiously. Relentlessly as the downpour only seemed to intensify. This was it. Her work here was done. A different outcome than she intended, but one that she had found peace with. Something that could and would be dealt with at a later date. Whatever the immediate outcome, Sarah Pirce now knew she was on borrowed time, and whenever the time came, Tiffany looked forward to reliving the chase all over again. The cold, terrifying grip of death never far from the shoulders of the Pirce family and all who surrounded them. With a ripple of infectious laughter, Tiffany pressed the throttle pedal flat to the floor of the Plymouth and sank back in the comfy leather seat, the city streets disappearing behind her as she tore across the intersection of Van Buren and Wabash, a loud rumble of thunder echoing above as a fork of lightning bolted from the heavens and hit one of the many street lights, the street below covered in a shower of sparks as the Plymouth flew past and headed towards the city limits and an uncertain future.

Would she return?

Who knew?

So long Chicago.


End file.
